_Pin._ We are for ye, Sir; we are your servants once more; Once more we'll seek our fortune in strange Countries; Ours is too scornful for us. _Bel._ Is there ne're a Land That ye have read, or heard of, (for I care not how far it be, Nor under what pestiferous Star it lies) A happy Kingdom where there are no Women? Nor have been ever? Nor no mention Of any such lewd things, with lewder qualities? For thither would I Travel; where 'tis Felony To confess he had a Mother: a Mistris, Treason. _La-Cast._ Are you for Travel too? _Bel._ For any thing; For living in the Moon, and stopping hedges, E're I stay here to be abus'd, and baffl'd. _Nan._ Why did ye not break your minds to me? they are my Daughters; And sure I think I should have that command over 'em, To see 'em well bestow'd: I know ye are Gentlemen, Men of fair Parts and States; I know your Parents; And had ye told me of your fair Affections-- Make but one tryal more; and let me second ye. _Bel._ No I'le make Hob-nails first, and mend old Kettles: Can ye lend me an Armour of high proof, to appear in, And two or three Field-pieces to defend me? The Kings Guard are meer Pigmeys. _Nant._ They will not eat ye. _Bel._ Yes, and you too, and twenty fatter Monsieurs, If their high stomachs hold: they came with Chopping-knives, To cut me into Rands, and Sirloins, and so powder me. Come, shall we go? _Nant._ You cannot be so discourteous (If ye intend to go) as not to visit 'em, And take your leaves. _Mir._ That we dare do, and civilly, And thank 'em too. _Pin._ Yes, Sir, we know that honesty. _Bel._ I'le come i'th' Rear, forty foot off, I'le assure ye, With a good Gun in my hand; I'le no more Amazons, I mean, no more of their frights; I'le make my three legs Kiss my hand twice; and if I smell no danger; If the enterview be clear, may be I'le speak to her; I'le wear a privy coat too; and behind me, To make those parts secure, a Bandog. _la-Cast._ You are a merry Gentleman. _Bel._ A wary Gentleman; I do assure ye, I have been warn'd, and must be arm'd. _la-Cast._ Well, Son, These are your hasty thoughts, when I see you are bent to it, Then I'le believe, and joyn with ye; So we'll leave ye: There's a Trick will make ye stay. _Nant._ I hope so. [_Exeunt._ _Mir._ We have won immortal Fame now, if we leave 'em. _Pin._ You have, but we have lost. _Mir._ _Pinac_, thou art cozen'd; I know they love ye; and to gain ye handsomly, Not to be thought to yield, they would give millions; Their Fathers willingness, that must needs shew ye. _Pin._ If I thought so. _Mir._ Ye shall be hang'd, ye Recreant, Would ye turn Renegado now?