+Pet.+ I'll tell you, sir, I have made an experience that way on my nature: when I have hired a creature for my pleasure, as 'tis the fashion in many places, for the like time that I told you of, I have been so tired with her before 'twas out, as no horse like me; I could not spur my affection to go a jot further. +Gas.+ Well said, boy! thou art e'en mine own son; when I was young, 'twas just my humour. +Lio.+ You give yourself a plausible commends. +Pet.+ I can make a shift to love: but, having enjoyed, fruition kills my appetite: no, I must have several objects of beauty to keep my thoughts always in action, or I am nobody. +Gas.+ Still mine own flesh and blood? +Pet.+ Therefore I have chose honour for my mistress, upon whose wings I will mount up to the heavens; where I will fix myself a constellation, for all this under-world of mortals to wonder at me. +Gas.+ Nay, he is a mad wag, I assure you, and knows how to put a price upon his desert. +Pet.+ I can no longer stay to dilate on these vanities; therefore, gallants, I leave you. [_Exit._ +Lor.+ What, is he gone? Is your son gone? +Gas.+ So it seems. Well, gallants, where shall I see you anon? +Lor.+ You shall not part with us. +Gas.+ You shall pardon me; I must wait upon my son. [_Exit._ +Lor.+ Do you hear, signior? A pretty preferment! +Lio.+ O sir, the lustre of good clothes or breeding, Bestow'd upon a son, will make a rustic Or a mechanic father to commit Idolatry, and adore his own issue. +Ang.+ They are so well match'd, 'twere pity to part them. +Lor.+ Well said, little one, I think thou art wiser than both of them. But this same scorn I do not so well relish; A whoreson humorous fantastic novice, To contemn my daughter! He is not worthy To bear up her train. +Lio.+ Or kiss under it. Will you revenge this injury upon him? +Lor.+ Revenge! Of all the passions of my blood, 'Tis the most sweet. I should grow fat to think on't, Could you but promise. +Lio.+ Will you have patience? Be rul'd by me, and I will compass it To your full wish. We'll set a bait afore him, That he shall seize as sharply as Jove's eagle Did snatch up Ganymede. +Lor.+ Do but cast the plot, I'll prosecute it with as much disgrace As hatred can suggest. +Lio.+ Do you see this page, then? +Lor.+ Ay, what of him? +Lio.+ That face of his shall do it. +Lor.+ What shall it do? Methinks he has a pretty innocent countenance. +Lio.+ O, but beware of a smooth look at all times. Observe what I say: he is a syren above, But below a very serpent. No female scorpion Did ever carry such a sting, believe it. +Lor.+ What should I do with him?