1ST BOY. True, Nick; hadst thou known their nightly quartering as well as I have done, thou wouldst hold them rare coy-ducks for retrieving new game, and storing their lobbies upon all adventures. 2D BOY. Why, Tim, art thou one of that covey? 1ST BOY. Let it suffice thee, wag, I know all their fagaries[111] to a hair. I have not played such a truant in my place as to become their pee-dee[112] during all the time of their restraint, and not to attain the principles of a puisne bolt: a faithful secret pimp deserves his constant pay. 2D BOY. But, in good sadness, resolve me: were these dainty Dabrides ever in restraint? 1ST BOY. As close cooped up, believe it, as any parachitoes ever were. Only they assumed to their pretended aggrievances to exclaim against their hard fortunes in being matched with such impotent and defective husbands; and now they have, by long flickering and strong favourites, got out o' th' cage, and wrought themselves into alimony. 2D BOY. Uds! so will their dainty fingers tug in alum-work? 1ST BOY. What an ignorant puppy thou art! This is no alum-work, but such a calcinated metal as it will run like quicksilver over all their husbands' domains, and in very short time make a quick despatch of all his Long-acre. 2D BOY. Trust me, Tim, these be mad-mettled girls, brave braches to breed on! 1ST BOY. What a wanton monkey is this? He's but newly bred, and he can talk of wenches breeding! Well, thou wilt grow a cock of th' game if thy pen-feathered youth mount to't. But silence, wag; the she-myrmidons are entering the stage, and I am pricked out for the chorus. SCENE II. _Enter six Ladies fantastically habited, in a wanton and pleasant posture: passing over the stage, they are encountered by six amorous complimental Servants, every one singling forth his mistress for discourse._ 2D BOY. What humorous tomboys be these? 1ST BOY. The only gallant Messalinas of our age. That love-spotted ermine is Madam Fricase, a woman of a rampant spirit; a confident pretender to language; and, for the Latin, she makes herself as familiar with the breach of Priscian's head as if it were her husband's. 2D BOY. Who is she, that looks like a mounted scaledrake?[113] 1ST BOY. That spitfire is Madam Caveare: one whose assiduate trading brought age upon her before her time. But art has taught her to supply furrowed deformities with ceruse boxes, and to repair a decayed complexion with an Italian fucus. This, with other fomentations, have so enlivened her, as they render her no less active than if she at last grass had but casten her colt's-tooth. The next in rank is that mincing madam Julippe, who would not bear a child for a world (though her endeavours be pregnant enough), for fear she should disfeature the comeliness of her body. 2D BOY. Yet she's a medlar.[114] 1ST BOY. A mellow one, and as ready to fall in autumn upon all occasions.