_Mir._ This woman, if she hold on, may be vertuous, 'Tis almost possible: we'll have a new day. _Bel._ Ye brought me on, ye forced me to this foolery; I am asham'd, I am scorn'd, I am flurted; yes, I am so: Though I cannot talk to a woman like your worship, And use my phrases, and my learned figures, Yet I can fight with any man. _Mir._ Fie. _Bel._ I can, Sir, And I will fight. _Mir._ With whom? _Bel._ With you, with any man; For all men now will laugh at me. _Mir._ Prethee be moderate. _Bel._ And I'le beat all men. Come. _Mir._ I love thee dearly. _Bel._ I beat all that love, Love has undone me; Never tell me, I will not be a History. _Mir._ Thou art not. _Bel._ 'Sfoot I will not; give me room, And let me see the proudest of ye jeer me, And I'le begin with you first. _Mir._ 'Prethee _Belleur_; If I do not satisfie thee-- _Bel._ Well, look ye do: But now I think on't better, 'tis impossible; I must beat some body, I am maul'd my self, And I ought in justice-- _Mir._ No, no, no, ye are couzen'd; But walk, and let me talk to thee. _Bel._ Talk wisely, And see that no man laugh upon no occasion; For I shall think then 'tis at me. _Mir._ I warrant thee. _Bel._ Nor no more talk of this. _Mir._ Do'st think I am maddish? _Bel._ I must needs fight yet; for I find it concerns me, A pox on't, I must fight. _Mir._ 'Faith thou shalt not. [_Exeunt._ _Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._ _Enter_ De Gard, _and_ Leverdure, _alias_ Lugier. _De G._ I know ye are a Scholar, and can do wonders. _Lug._ There's no great Scholarship belongs to this, Sir; What I am, I am; I pity your poor Sister, And heartily I hate these Travellers, These Gim-cracks, made of Mops, and Motions: There's nothing in their houses here but hummings; A Bee has more brains. I grieve, and vex too The insolent licentious carriage Of this out-facing fellow, _Mirabell_, And I am mad to see him prick his plumes up. _De Gar._ His wrongs you partly know. _Lug._ Do not you stir, Sir, Since he has begun with wit, let wit revenge it; Keep your sword close, we'll cut his throat a new way. I am asham'd the Gentlewoman should suffer Such base lewd wrongs. _De Gar._ I will be rul'd, he shall live, And left to your revenge. _Lug._ I, I, I'le fit him: He makes a common scorn of handsome Women; Modesty, and good manners are his May-games: He takes up Maidenheads with a new Commission; The Church warrant's out of date: follow my Counsel, For I am zealous in the Cause. _De Gar._ I will, Sir; And will be still directed: for the truth is My Sword will make my Sister seem more monstrous: Besides there is no honour won on Reprobates.