WID. Penthesilea nor all the cloven knights the poets treat of, yclad in mightiest petticoats, did her excel for gallant deeds, and with her honour still preserved her freedom. My brother loved her; and I have heard him swear Minerva might have owned her language; an eye like Pallas, Juno's wrists, a Venus for shape, and a mind chaste as Diana; but not so rough: never uncivilly cruel, nor faulty kind to any; no vanity, that sees more than lovers pay, nor blind to a gallant passion. Her maxim was, he that could love, and tell her so handsomely, was better company, but not a better lover, than a silent man. Thus all passions found her civility, and she a value from all her lovers. But alas! niece, this _was_ (which is a sad word)--_was_ handsome and _was_ beloved are abhorred sounds in women's ears. [_The_ FIDDLERS _play again_. PLEA. Hark! the fiddlers are merry still. Will not Secret have the wit to find us this morning, think you? FID. [_Within._] God give you joy, Master Careless! God give your ladyship joy, my Lady Wild! WID. What did the fellows say? God give me joy? PLEA. As I live, I think so. FID. God give you joy, Mistress Pleasant Wild! WID. This is my nephew: I smell him in this knavery. PLEA. Why did they give me joy by the name of Mistress Wild? I shall pay dear for a night's lodging if that be so; especially lying alone. By this light, there is some knavery afoot. [_All the company confused without, and bid God give them joy._ JOLLY. Rise, rise, for shame; the year's afore you. CAPT. Why, Ned Wild; why, Tom, will you not rise and let's in? What, is it not enough to steal your wedding overnight, but lock yourselves up in the morning too? All your friends stay for points here, and kisses from the brides. WILD. A little patience! you'll give us leave to dress us? [_The women squeak when they speak_. CARE. Why, what's o'clock, captain? CAPT. It's late. CARE. Faith, so it was before we slept. WID. Why, nephew, what means this rudeness? As I live, I'll fall out with you. This is no jest. WILD. No, as I live, aunt, we are in earnest; but my part lies here, and there's a gentleman will do his best to satisfy you. [_They catch the women in their arms._] And, sweet Mistress Pleasant, I know you have so much wit as to perceive this business cannot be remedied by denials. Here we are, as you see, naked,[274] and thus have saluted hundreds at the window that passed by, and gave us joy this morning. PLEA. Joy! of what? what do you mean? CARE. Madam, this is visible; and you may coy it, and refuse to call me husband, but I am resolved to call you wife, and such proofs I'll bring as shall not be denied. [CARELESS _kisses the_ WIDOW. WID. Promise yourself that; see whether your fine wits can make it good. You will not be uncivil? CARE. Not a hair, but what you give, and that was in the contract before we undertook it; for any man may force a woman's body, but we have laid we will force your mind.