CAR. What a way have I come, yet I know not Whither: the air's so cold this winter season, I'm sure a fool--would any but an ass Leave a warm-matted chamber and a bed, To run thus in the cold? and (which is more) To seek a woman--a slight thing call'd woman? Creatures, which curious nature fram'd, as I suppose, For rent-receivers to her treasury. And why I think so now, I'll give you instance; Most men do know that nature's self hath made them Most profitable members; then if so, By often trading in the commonwealth They needs must be enrich'd; why, very good! To whom ought beauty then repay this gain, Which she by nature's gift hath profited, But unto nature? why, all this I grant. Why then they shall no more be called women, For I will style them thus, scorning their leave, Those that for nature do much rent receive. This is a wood, sure; and, as I have read, In woods are echoes which will answer men To every question which they do propound. Echo.[391] ECHO. _Echo._ CAR. O, are you there? have at ye then, i' faith. Echo, canst tell me whether men or women Are for the most part damn'd? ECHO. _Most part damn'd._ CAR. O,[392] both indeed; how true this echo speaks! Echo, now tell me, if amongst a thousand women There be one chaste or none? ECHO. _None._ CAR. Why, so I think; better and better still. Now farther: Echo, in the world of men, Is there one faithful to his friend, or no? ECHO. _No._ CAR. Thou speak'st most true, for I have found it so. Who said thou wast a woman, Echo, lies; Thou couldst not then answer so much of truth. Once more, good Echo; Was my Maria false by her own desire, Or was't against her will? ECHO. _Against her will._ CAR. Troth, it may be so; but canst thou tell, Whether she be dead or not? ECHO. _Not._ CAR. Not dead! ECHO. _Not dead._ CAR. Then without question she doth surely live. But I do trouble thee too much; therefore, Good speak-truth, farewell. ECHO. _Farewell._