WELL. But is it possible thou shouldst have no more wit? wouldst thou come away upon any terms but sure ones, having night, her chamber, and herself naked in thine arms? By that light, if I had a son of fourteen, whom I had helped thus far, that had served me so, I would breech him.[122] BOLD. 'Sheart! what would you have me done? WELL. Have done? done? done twice at least. BOLD. Have played Tarquin, and ravished her? WELL. Pish! Tarquin was a blockhead: if he had had any wit and could have spoke, Lucrece had never been ravished; she would have yielded, I warrant thee, and so will any woman. BOLD. I was such an erroneous heretic to love and women as thou art, till now. WELL. God's precious! it makes me mad when I think on't. Was there ever such an absurd trick! now will she abuse thee horribly, say thou art a faint-hearted fellow, a milksop, and I know not what, as indeed thou art. BOLD. Zounds! would you had been in my place. WELL. Zounds! I would I had, I would have so jumbled her honesty. Wouldst thou be held out at stave's end with words? dost thou not know a widow's a weak vessel, and is easily cast, if you close. BOLD. Welltried, you deal unfriendly. WELL. By this light, I shall blush to be seen in thy company. BOLD. Pray, leave my chamber. WELL. Pox upon your chamber! I care not for your chamber nor yourself, More than you care for me. BOTS. 'Sblood! I as little for you. WELL. Why, fare you well. BOTS. Why, fare well. Yet, Welltried,[123] I prythee, stay: Thou know'st I love thee. WELL. 'Sheart! I love you as well; But for my spleen or choler, I think I have As much as you. BOTS. Well, friend, This is the business you must do for me. Repair unto the widow, where give out, To-morrow morn I shall be married: Invite her to the wedding. I have a trick To put upon this lord, too, whom I made My instrument to prefer me. WELL. What shall follow I will not ask, because I mean[124] to see't. The jars 'twixt friends still keeps their friendship sweet. [_Exit._ FEE. [_waking_.] Why, Welltried, you rogue! what's that? a vision? BOLD. Why, how now, my lord? whom do you call rogue? The gentleman you name is my friend. If you were wise, I should be angry. FEE. Angry with me? why, damn me, sir, and you be, out with your sword. It is not with me, I tell you, as it was yesterday; I am fleshed, man, I. Have you anything to say to me? BOLD. Nothing but this: how many do you think you have slain last night? FEE. Why, five; I never kill less. BOLD. There were but four. My lord, you had best provide yourself and begone; three you have slain stark dead. FEE. You jest! BOLD. It is most true. Welltried is fled.