_Mir._ I'le be near thee; Pluck up thy heart, I'le second thee at all brunts; Be angry if she abuse thee, and beat her a little, Some women are won that way. _Bel._ Pray be quiet, And let me think: I am resolv'd to go on; But how I shall get off again-- _Mir._ I am perswaded Thou wilt so please her, she will go near to ravish thee. _Bel._ I would 'twere come to that once: let me pray a little. _Mir._ Now for thine honour _Pinac_; board me this modesty, Warm but this frozen snow-ball, 'twill be a conquest (Although I know thou art a fortunate Wencher, And hast done rarely in thy daies) above all thy ventures. _Bel._ You will be ever near? _Mir._ At all necessities, And take thee off, and set thee on again, Boy; And cherish thee, and stroak thee. _Bel._ Help me out too? For I know I shall stick i'th' mire: if ye see us close once, Be gone, and leave me to my fortune, suddenly, For I am then determin'd to do wonders. Farewel, and fling an old shooe: how my heart throbs! Would I were drunk: Farewel _Pinac_; Heaven send us A joyfull and a merry meeting, man. _Pi._ Farewel, And chear thy heart up; and remember _Bellure_ They are but women. _Bel._ I had rather they were Lyons. [_Exeunt._ _Mir._ About it; I'le be with you instantly. _Enter_ Oriana. Shall I ne'r be at rest? no peace of conscience? No quiet for these creatures? Am I ordain'd To be devour'd quick by these she-Canibals? Here's another they call handsom, I care not for her, I ne'r look after her: when I am half tipled It may be I should turn her, and peruse her, Or in my want of women, I might call for her; But to be haunted when I have no fancie, No maw to th' matter--Now, why do you follow me? _Ori._ I hope, Sir, 'tis no blemish to my vertue, Nor need you (out of scruple) ask that question, If you remember ye, before your Travel The contract you ty'd to me: 'tis my love, Sir, That makes me seek ye, to confirm your memory, And that being fair and good, I cannot suffer: I come to give ye thanks too. _Mir._ For what 'prethee? _Ori._ For that fair piece of honesty ye shew'd, Sir, That constant nobleness. _Mir._ How? for I am short headed. _Ori._ I'le tell ye then; for refusing that free offer Of _Monsieur Natolets_; those handsom Beauties, Those two prime Ladies, that might well have prest ye, If not to have broken, yet to have bow'd your promise, I know it was for my sake, for your faith sake, You slipt 'em off: your honesty compell'd ye. And let me tell ye, Sir, it shew'd most handsomly.