+Spin.+ But can your honour never woo your lady to a more sociable affability? She will not kiss, nor drink, nor talk, but against new fashions. +Lod.+ O sir, she is my crown: nor is it requisite women should be so sociable. I have had such a coil with her, to bring her but to look out at window! When we were first married, she would not drink a cup of wine, unless nine parts of it were water. +Omnes.+ Admired temperance! +Lod.+ Nay, and ye knew all, my lords, ye would say so. T'other day I brought an English gentleman home with me, to try a horse I should sell him: he (as ye know their custom, though it be none of ours) makes at her lips the first dash. +Clown.+ He dashed her out of countenance, I'm sure of that. +Lod.+ She did so pout and spit, that my hot-brained gallant could not forbear but ask the cause. Quoth she---- +Clown.+ No, sir, she spit again before _quoth she_ left her lips. +Lod.+ I think she did indeed: but then, quoth she, A kiss, sir, is sin's earnest-penny. Is't not true, Pambo? +Clown.+ Very true, sir. By the same token, quoth he to her again, if you dislike the penny, lady, pray let me change it into English halfpence, and so gave her two for't. +Lod.+ But how she vexed then! Then she rattled him, and told him roundly, though confidence made cuckolds in England, she could no coxcombs in Italy. +Clown.+ But did ye mark how bitterly he closed it with a middling jest? +Lod.+ What was that, I prythee? +Clown.+ Why, quoth he again, Confidence makes not so many cuckolds in England, but craft picks open more padlocks in Italy. +Jov.+ That was something sharp. But there she comes. _Enter +Dorothea+ and +Francisco+._ +Lod.+ Ye shall see how I'll put ye all upon her presently. +Clown.+ Then I shall take my turn. +Dor.+ Francis. +Fran.+ Madam. +Dor.+ Have you changed the ditty you last set? +Fran.+ I have, madam. +Dor.+ The conceit may stand; but I hope you have clothed the method in a more Christian-like apparel. +Fran.+ I have, lady. +Dor.+ Pray, let me hear it now. +Fran.+ _She that in these days looks for truth, Seldom or never finds in sooth._ +Dor.+ That's wondrous well. +Clown.+ Yes, in sadness. +Lod.+ Peace, sirrah! nay, she's built of modesty. +Fran.+ _Even as a wicked kiss defiles the lips, So do new fashions her that through them trips._ +Dor.+ Very modest language. +Fran.+ _She that doth pleasure use for what 'twill bring her, Will pluck a rose, although she prick her finger._ +Dor.+ Put in _hurt her finger_, good Francis: the phrase will be more decent. +Pan.+ Y' are a wondrous happy man in one so virtuous! +Lod.+ Nay, ye shall have no Count Lorenzo of me, I warrant ye. +Clown.+ Nor no Count Lorenzo's lady of your wife, I warrant ye.