_Mir._ No, certain, no, for any thing I know yet; I must not lose my liberty, dear Lady, And like a wanton slave cry for more shackles. What should I marry for? Do I want any thing? Am I an inch the farther from my pleasure? Why should I be at charge to keep a wife of mine own, When other honest married men will ease me? And thank me too, and be beholding to me: Thou thinkst I am mad for a Maiden-head, thou art cozen'd; Or if I were addicted to that diet Can you tell me where I should have one? thou art eighteen now, And if thou hast thy Maiden-head yet extant, Sure 'tis as big as Cods-head: and those grave dishes I never love to deal withal: Do'st thou see this book here? Look over all these ranks; all these are women, Maids, and pretenders to Maiden-heads; these are my conquests, All these I swore to marry, as I swore to thee, With the same reservation, and most righteously, Which I need not have done neither; for alas they made no scruple, And I enjoy'd 'em at my will, and left 'em: Some of 'em are married since, and were as pure maids again, Nay o' my conscience better than they were bred for; The rest fine sober women. _Ori._ Are ye not asham'd, Sir? _Mir._ No by my troth, Sir; there's no shame belongs to it; I hold it as commendable to be wealthy in pleasure, As others do in rotten sheep, and pasture. _Enter_ de Gard. _Ori._ Are all my hopes come to this? is there no faith? No troth? nor modesty in men? _de [G]a._ How now Sister, Why weeping thus? did I not prophesie? Come tell me why-- _Ori._ I am not well; 'pray ye pardon me. [_Exit._ _de Ga._ Now Monsieur _Mirabel_, what ails my Sister? You have been playing the wag with her. _Mir._ As I take it, She is crying for a cod-piece; is she gone? Lord, what an Age is this! I was calling for ye, For as I live I thought she would have ravish'd me. _de Ga._ Ye are merry Sir. _Mir._ Thou know'st this book, _de Gard_, this Inventory. _de Ga._ The debt-book of your Mistresses, I remember it. _Mir._ Why this was it that anger'd her; she was stark mad She found not her name here, and cry'd down-right, Because I would not pity her immediately, And put her in my list. _de Ga._ Sure she had more modesty. _Mir._ Their modesty is anger to be over-done; They'l quarrel sooner for precedence here, And take it in more dudgeon to be slighted, Than they will in publique meetings; 'tis their natures: And alas I have so many to dispatch yet, And to provide my self for my affairs too, That in good faith--