_Lil._ And hired to come and abuse us; a man has manners; A Gentleman, Civility, and Breeding: Some Tinkers Trull, with a Beard glew'd on. _1 Wom._ Let's search him; And as we find him. _Bel._ Let me but depart from ye, Sweet Christian-women. _Lil._ Hear the Thing speak, Neighbours. _Bel._ 'Tis but a small request; if e'r I trouble ye, If e'r I talk again of beating Women, Or beating any thing that can but turn to me; Of ever thinking of a handsome Lady But vertuously and well; of ever speaking But to her honour; This I'll promise ye, I will take Rhubarb, and purge Choler mainly, Abundantly I'll purge. _Lil._ I'll send ye Broths, Sir. _Bel._ I will be laugh'd at, and endure it patiently, I will do any thing. _Ros._ I'll be your Bayl then; When ye come next to woo, 'pray come not boisterously, And furnish'd like a Bear-ward. _Bel._ No in truth, forsooth. _Ros._ I scented ye long since. _Bel._ I was to blame sure, I will appear a Gentleman. _Ros._ 'Tis the best for ye, For a true noble Gentleman's a brave thing; Upon that hope we quit ye. You fear seriously? _Bel._ Yes truly do I; I confess I fear ye, And honour ye, and any thing. _Ros._ Farewel then. _Wom._ And when ye come to woo next bring more mercy. [_Exeunt._ _Enter two Gentlemen._ _Bel._ A Dairy-maid! a Tinkers-Trull! Heaven bless me! Sure if I had provok'd 'em, they had quarter'd me. I am a most ridiculous Ass, now I perceive it: A Coward, and a Knave too. _1 Gent._ 'Tis the mad Gentleman: Let's set our Faces right. _Bel._ No, no, laugh at me; And laugh aloud. _2 Gent._ We are better manner'd, Sir. _Bel._ I do deserve it; call me Patch, and Puppy, And beat me if you please. _1 Gent._ No indeed, we know ye. _Bel._ 'Death, do as I would have ye. _2 Gent._ You are an Ass then; A Coxcomb, and a Calf. _Bel._ I am a great Calf; Kick me a little now: Why, when? Sufficient: Now laugh aloud, and scorn me; so good b'ye; And ever when ye meet me laugh. _1 Gent._ We will, Sir. [_Exeunt._ SCENE III. _Enter_ Nantolet, La-Castre, De-Gard, Lugier, Mirabel. _Mir._ Your patience, Gentlemen: why do ye bait me? _Nan._ Is't not a shame you are so stubborn hearted, So stony and so dull to such a Lady, Of her Perfections, and her Misery? _Lug._ Does she not love ye? does not her distraction For your sake only, her most pitied lunacie Of all but you, shew ye? does it not compel ye? _Mir._ Soft and fair, Gentlemen, pray ye proceed temperately. _Lug._ If ye have any feeling, any sense in ye, The least touch of a noble heart.