_La-C._ Where you shall meet fair, merry, and noble Company. My neighbour _Natolet_, and his two fair Daughters. _De G._ Your supper's season'd well, Sir. I shall wait upon ye. _La-C._ Till then I'le leave ye: and y'are once more welcome. _De G._ I thank ye, noble Sir. Now, _Oriana_, [_Exit._ How have ye done since I went? have ye had your health well? And your mind free? _Oria._ You see I am not bated; Merry, and eat my meat. _De G._ A good preservative. And how have you been us'd? You know, _Oriana_, Upon my going out, at your request, I left your Portion in _La-Castre_'s hands, (The main Means you must stick to) for that reason (And 'tis no little one) I ask ye, Sister, With what humanity he entertains ye, And how ye find his courtesie? _Oria._ Most ready. I can assure you, Sir, I am us'd most nobly. _De G._ I am glad to hear it: But I prethee tell me, (And tell me true) what end had you, _Oriana_, In trusting your mony here? He is no Kinsman, Nor any tie upon him of a Guardian; Nor dare I think ye doubt my prodigality. _Or._ No, certain, Sir, none of all this provoked me; Another private reason. _De G._ 'Tis not private, Nor carryed so: 'tis common (my fair Sister) Your love to _Mirabel_; your blushes tell it: 'Tis too much known, and spoken of too largely; And with no little shame I wonder at it. _Oria._ Is it a shame to love? _De G._ To love undiscreetly: A Virgin should be tender of her honour, Close, and secure. _Oria._ I am as close as can be, And stand upon as strong and honest guards too; Unless this Warlike Age need a Port-cullis: Yet I confess, I love him. _De G._ Hear the people. _Oria._ Now I say hang the people: He that dares Believe what they say, dares be mad, and give His Mother, nay his own Wife up to Rumor; All grounds of truth they build on, is a Tavern, And their best censure's Sack, Sack in abundance: For as they drink, they think: they ne're speak modestly Unless the wine be poor, or they want mony. Believe them? believe _Amadis de Gaul_, The Knight o'th' Sun, or _Palmerin_ of _England_; For these, to them, are modest, and true stories. Pray understand me; if their tongues be truth, And if in _Vino veritas_ be an Oracle, What Woman is, or has been ever honest? Give 'em but ten round cups, they'll swear _Lucretia_ Dy'd not for want of power to resist _Tarquin_, But want of Pleasure, that he stay'd no longer: And _Portia_, that was famous for her Piety To her lov'd Lord, they'll face ye out, dy'd o'th' Pox. _De G._ Well, there is something, Sister. _Oria._ If there be, Brother, 'Tis none of their things, 'tis not yet so monstrous; My thing is Marriage: And at his return I hope to put their squint-eyes right again.