_Ros._ I am of that mind too; he is too nimble, And plays at fast and loose too learnedly For a plain-meaning Woman; that's the truth on't. Here's one too, that we love well, would be angry; And reason why: No, no, we will not trouble ye Nor him, at this time: may he make you happy. We'll turn our selves loose now, to our fair fortunes, And the down-right way. _Lil._ The winning-way we'll follow, We'll bait, that men may bite fair, and not be frighted; Yet we'll not be carryed so cheap neither: we'll have some sport, Some mad-Morris or other for our mony, Tutor. _Lug._ 'Tis like enough: prosper your own Devices; Ye are old enough to choose: But for this Gentlewoman, So please her, give me leave. _Oria._ I shall be glad, Sir, To find a friend, whose pity may direct me. _Lug._ I'le do my best, and faithfully deal for ye; But then ye must be ruled. _Oria._ In all, I vow to ye. _Ros._ Do, do: he has a lucky hand sometimes, I'le assure ye: And hunts the recovery of a lost Lover deadly. _Lug._ You must away straight. _Oria._ Yes. _Lug._ And I'le instruct ye: Here ye can know no more. _Oria._ By your leave, sweet Ladies, And all our Fortunes, arrive at our own wishes. _Lil._ Amen, Amen. _Lug._ I must borrow your man. _Lil._ 'Pray take him; He is within: to do her good, take any thing, Take us, and all. _Lug._ No doubt ye may find Takers; And so we'll leave ye to your own disposes. [_Exeunt._ _Lil._ Now which way, Wench. _Ros._ We'll go a brave way; fear not: A safe, and sure way too: and yet a by-way, I must confess I have a great mind to be married. _L[i]l._ So have I too, a grudging of good-will that way; And would as fain be dispatch'd. But this _Monsieur Quicksilver_. _Ros._ No, no: we'll bar him, by, and Main: Let him trample; There is no safety in his Surquedrie: An Army-Royal of women, are too few for him, He keeps a Journal of his Gentleness, And will go near to print his fair dispatches, And call it his triumph over time and women: Let him pass out of memory: what think ye Of his two Companions? _Lil._ _Pinac_ methinks is reasonable; A little modestie he has brought home with him, And might be taught in time some handsom duty. _Ros._ They say he is a wencher too. _Lil._ I like him better: A free light touch or two becomes a Gentleman, And sets him seemly off: so he exceed not, But keep his compass, clear he may be lookt at; I would not marry a man that must be taught, And conjur'd up with kisses; the best game Is plaid still by the best Gamesters. _Ros._ Fie upon thee! What talk hast thou? _Lil._ Are not we alone, and merry? Why should we be asham'd to speak what we think? thy _Gentleman_ The tall fat fellow; he that came to see thee.