+Clown.+ Your horse is ready, sir. +Lod.+ My lords, I think we have stayed with the longest. Farewell, Doll. _Crede quod habes, et habes_, gallants. +Pan.+ Our horses shall fetch it up again. Farewell, sweet lady. +Jas.+ Adieu, sweet mistress: and whensoe'er I marry, Fortune turn up to me no worse card than you are! +Clown.+ And whensoe'er I marry, Venus send me a card may save Fortune the labour, and turn up herself. [_Exeunt._ +Dor.+ How now? why loiter you behind? why ride you not along with your lord? +Fran.+ To lie with your ladyship. +Dor.+ How? +Fran.+ In the bed, upon the bed, or under the bed. +Dor.+ Why, how now, Francis! +Fran.+ This is the plain truth on't, I would lie with ye. +Dor.+ Why, Francis---- +Fran.+ I know too, that you will lie with me. +Dor.+ Nay, but, Francis---- +Fran.+ Plague of Francis! I am neither Frank nor Francis, But a gentleman of Milan, that even there Heard of your beauty, which report there guarded With such a chastity, the glittering'st sin Held no artillery of power to shake it. Upon which I resolv'd to try conclusions; Assum'd this name and fortune, sought this service: And I will tell ye truly what I guess you. +Dor.+ You will not ravish me, Francis? +Fran.+ No; but unravel ye in two lines experience writ lately-- _Extremes in virtue are but clouds to vice; She'll do i' th' dark who is i' th' day too nice._ +Dor.+ Indeed ye do not well to belie me thus. +Fran.+ Come, I'll lie with thee, wench, and make all well again. Though your confident lord makes use of _Crede quod habes, et habes_, and holds it impossible for any to be a cuckold, [and] can believe himself none, I would have his lady have more wit, and clap them on. +Dor.+ And truly, Francis, some women now would do't. +Fran.+ Who can you choose more convenient to practise with than me, whom he doats on? where shall a man find a friend but at home? so you break one proverb's pate, and give the other a plaster. Is't a match, wench? +Dor.+ Well, for once it is: but, and ye do any more, indeed I'll tell my husband. +Fran.+ But when shall this once be? now? +Dor.+ Now? no indeed, Francis. It shall be soon at night, when your lord's come home. +Fran.+ Then! how is it possible? +Dor.+ Possible! women can make any of these things possible, Francis: now many casualties may cross us; but soon at night my lord, I'm sure, will be so sleepy, what with his journey and deep healths for the duke's return, that before he goes to bed (as he uses still when he has been hard a-drinking) he will sleep upon the bed in's clothes so sound, bells, would not wake him, rung in the chamber. +Fran.+ The cuckold slumbers; and though his wife hit him o' th' forehead with her heel, he dreams of no such matter.