_Alice._ And so will you too, Or break down hedges for it. _Dorothea_, The welcom'st woman living; how does thy Brother? I hear he's turn'd a wondrous civil Gentleman Since his short travel. _Dor._ 'Pray Heaven he make it good, _Alice_. _Mary._ How do ye friend? I have a quarrel to ye, Ye stole away and left my company. _Dor._ O pardon me, dear friend, it was to welcome A Brother that I have some Cause to love well. _Mary._ Prithee how is he? thou speak'st truth. _Dor._ Not perfect, I hope he will be. _Mary._ Never: h'as forgot me, I hear Wench, and his hot love too. _Alice._ Thou would'st howl then. _Mary._ And I am glad it should be so; his travels Have yielded him variety of Mistresses, Fairer in his eye far. _Alice._ O cogging Rascal! _Mary._ I was a fool, but better thoughts I thank heaven. _Dor._ 'Pray do not think so, for he loves you dearly, Upon my troth most firmly, would fain see you. _Mary._ See me friend! do you think it fit? _Dor._ It may be, Without the loss of credit too; he's not Such a prodigious thing, so monstrous, To fling from all society. _Mary._ He's so much contrary To my desires, such an antipathy That I must sooner see my grave. _Dor._ Dear friend, He was not so before he went. _Mary._ I grant it, For then I daily hop'd his fair Conversion. _Alice._ Come, do not mask your self, but see him freely, Ye have a mind. _Mary._ That mind I'll master then. _Dor._ And is your hate so mortal? _Mary._ Not to his person, But to his qualities, his mad-cap follies, Which still like _Hydras_ heads grow thicker on him. I have a credit, friend, and Maids of my sort, Love where their modesties may live untainted. _Dor._ I give up that hope then; 'pray for your friends sake, If I have any interest within ye, Do but this courtesie, accept this Letter. _Mary._ From him? _Dor._ The same; 'tis but a minutes reading, And as we look on shapes of painted Devils, Which for the present may disturb our fancy, But with the next new object lose 'em, so If this be foul, ye may forget it, 'pray. _Mary._ Have ye seen it, friend? _Dor._ I will not lie; I have not, But I presume, so much he honours you, The worst part of himself was cast away When to his best part he writ this. _Mary._ For your sake, Not that I any way shall like his scribling. _Alice._ A shrewd dissembling Quean. _Dor._ I thank ye, dear friend, I know she loves him.