_1 Gent._ I pray ye be satisfied; If we did laugh, we had some private reason, And not at you. _2 Gent._ Alas, we know you not, Sir. _Bel._ I'le make you know me; set your faces soberly; Stand this way, and look sad; I'le be no May-game; Sadder; demurer yet. _Ros._ What's the matter? What ails this Gentleman? _Bel._ Go off now backward, that I may behold ye; And not a simper on your lives. _Lil._ He's mad sure. _Bel._ Do you observe me too? _Mir._ I may look on ye. _Bel._ Why do you grin? I know your minde. _Mir._ You do not, You are strangely humorous: is there no mirth, nor pleasure, But you must be the object? _Bel._ Mark, and observe me; Where ever I am nam'd; The very word shall raise a general sadness, For the disgrace this scurvy woman did me; This proud pert thing; take heed ye laugh not at me; Provoke me not, take heed. _Ros._ I would fain please ye; Do any thing to keep ye quiet. _Bel._ Hear me, Till I receive a satisfaction Equal to the disgrace, and scorn ye gave me: Ye are a wretched woman; till thou woo'st me, And I scorn thee asmuch, as seriously Jear, and abuse thee; ask what Gill thou art; Or any baser name; I will proclaim thee; I will so sing thy vertue; so be-paint thee. _Ros._ Nay, good Sir, be more modest. _Bel._ Do you laugh again? Because ye are a woman ye are lawless, And out of compass of an honest anger. _Ros._ Good Sir, have a better belief of me. _Lil._ Away dear Sister. [_Exit._ _Mir._ Is not this better now, this seeming madness, Than falling out with your friends? _Bel._ Have I not frighted her? _Mir._ Into her right wits, I warrant thee: follow this humor, And thou shalt see how prosperously 'twill guide thee. _Bel._ I am glad I have found a way to woo yet, I was afraid once I never should have made a civil Suiter. Well, I'le about it still. [_Exit._ _Mir._ Do, do, and prosper. What sport do I make with these fools! What pleasure Feeds me, and fats my sides at their poor innocence! _Enter_ Leverduce, _alias_ Lugier, _Mr._ Illiard. Wooing and wiving, hang it: give me mirth, Witty and dainty mirth: I shall grow in love sure With mine own happy head. Who's this? To me, Sir? What youth is this? _Lev._ Yes, Sir, I would speak with you, If your name be Monsieur _Mirabel_. _Mir._ Ye have hit it, Your business, I beseech ye? _Lev._ This it is, Sir, There is a Gentlewoman hath long time affected ye, And lov'd ye dearly. _Mir._ Turn over, and end that story, 'Tis long enough: I have no faith in women, Sir.