STRANGE. It will be thought Your greatness and our money carries it: For some say some men on the back of law May ride and rule it like a patient ass, And with a golden bridle in the mouth Direct it unto anything they please. Others report it is a spider's web, Made to entangle the poor helpless flies, Whilst the great spiders that did make it first, And rule it, sit i' th' midst secure, and laugh. My law in this shall only be my sword; But, peradventure, not this month or two. KATH. This month or two? C. FRED. I'll be your second, then. STRANGE. You proffer too much honour, my good lord. PEN. And I will be your third. ABRA. I'll not be fourth or fifth, For the old proverb's good, which long hath been, Says safest 'tis sleeping in a whole skin. LUC. God-a-mercy, Nab, I'll ha' thee, and be but for thy manhood. SIR INN. Wife, my Lady Ninny, do you hear your son? He speaks seldom, but when he speaks---- LUC. He speaks proverbs, i' faith. L. NIN. O, 'tis a pestilence knight, Mistress Lucida. LUC. Ay, and a pocky. KATH. This month or two! D'ye love me? not before? It may be I will live so long Fame's whore! [_Exit_ KATHERINE. SIR J. WOR. What lowering star rul'd my nativity! You'll come to dinner? STRANGE. Yes. C. FRED. Good morrow, brother. Come, let's be merry in despite of all, And make this day (as't should be) festival. SIR J. WOR. This sour thwart beginning may portend Good, and be crown'd with a delicious end. [_Exeunt all but_ STRANGE. STRANGE. So; I'll not see you, till my task be done: So much false time I set to my intent, Which instantly I mean to execute, To cut off all means of prevention, Which if they knew my day, they would essay. Now for the merchant's honour. Hit all right: Kate, your young Strange will lie with you to-night. [_Exit._ _Enter WAGTAIL; the_ PAGE, _stealing after her, conceals himself_. WAG. What a stir is here made about lying with a gentlewoman! I have been lain with a hundred, and a hundred times, and nothing has come on't! but--hawk, hum! hawk, hum! O, O! Thus have I done for this month or two--hawk, hum! [_Coughs and spits._] PAGE. Ah! God's will, are you at it? You have acted your name too much, sweet Mistress Wagtail. This was wittily, though somewhat knavishly followed on me. WAG. Umph! O' my conscience, I am peppered. Well, thou tumblest not for nothing, for he dances as well that got thee, and plays as well on the viol, and yet he must not father thee. I have better men. Let me remember them, and here, in my melancholy, choose out one rich enough to reward this my stale virginity, or fit enough to marry my little honesty. Hawk, hawk! [_Coughs and spits._]