+Ping.+ Sure, I am Sysiphus's stone, for as fast as I turn Over, I think I turn back again, else I Must needs have been come to my journey's end [_He rolls to her, and she rolls from him._ By this time; for I am of such a breadth, That every roll I give I pass over An acre at least. Thou liest still, my love, Dost thou not? +Mir.+ Yes, I long to have thee here. +Ping.+ I doubt I shan't be with thee, though, This two hours. +Mir.+ Then my heart will break. +Ping.+ I'm sure mine will before I get to thee. O woman, O woman, O woman! They talk of woman in travail, I'm Sure I know a man in travail at This time, in more pain by half. [_She rises and laughs at him._ +Mir.+ Why, my most extreme fat ass, dost Thou not find that I have fool'd thee All this while? +Ping.+ Why, hast thou? +Mir.+ Yes, indeed have I. +Ping.+ O thou woman! may'st thou grow Fat, that thy breast and belly may Meet together, so that all the fat Hostesses in Christendom may appear But eels to thee. +Mir.+ Farewell, my lowly love. +Ping.+ Why, wilt thou not help me up, before You go? +Mir.+ What to do? to run heats again for love? +Ping.+ No, to fight with thee. +Mir.+ Fight with me? by this light, would we Had two swords. I'd have one pass At all thy tripes. _Enter +Cutler+ with two swords._ Faith, and yonder's a fellow with two swords: Friend, lend me but thy swords one minute. +Cut.+ I am going to carry them to two gentlemen. +Mir.+ O, this will not hinder thee; thou shalt See rare sport. Go, help that gentleman Up that lies yonder, and give that sword Into his hand. Come, are ye ready, sir? +Ping.+ Why, you dare fight then, it seems? Though thou art so ungodly a chit, as To say no prayers, before thou beginn'st, I will, I assure thee. Good--I pray and desire ye, if I Do miscarry in this duel, that I may Meet with no woman in the other World. Now, thou worst of females, Have at thee. +Mir.+ Come, I'll let out all your fat and love at One thrust. [_Fight, and she disarms him._ Now ask thy life, and confess thou art an ass. +Ping.+ I am an ass, and ask my life. +Mir.+ Then I, thy conquering Cæsar, take my leave With this conclusion: _veni, vidi, vici._ And so farewell. O fate, O love, O fat! [_Exit._ +Ping.+ After all my miseries, would I were Up again, else the next man that comes Will make a roller of me, for to roll Bowling-greens. [_Makes several attempts to rise, and at last gets up._ So, now I have a mile home at least, And every toilsome step I take, I will Curse women. [_Exit._