_Thom._ Thou never meanest then To marry any that thou lov'st? _Hyl._ No surely, Nor any wise man I think; marriage? Would you have me now begin to be prentice, And learn to cobble other mens old Boots? _Sam._ Why, you may take a Maid. _Hyl._ Where? can you tell me? Or if 'twere possible I might get a Maid, To what use should I put her? look upon her, Dandle her upon my knee, and give her sugar-sops? All the new Gowns i'th' Parish will not please her, If she be high bred, for there's the sport she aims at, Nor all the feathers in the Fryars. _Thom._ Then take a Widow, A good stanch wench, that's tith. _Hyl._ And begin a new order, Live in a dead mans monument, not I, Sir, I'll keep mine own road, a true mendicant; What pleasure this day yields me, I never covet To lay up for the morrow; and methinks ever Anothers mans Cook dresses my diet neatest. _Thom._ Thou wast wont to love old women, fat and flat nosed, And thou would'st say they kiss'd like Flounders, flat All the face over. _Hyl._ I have had such damsels I must confess. _Thom._ Thou hast been a precious Rogue. _Sam._ Only his eyes; and o' my Conscience They lye with half the Kingdom. [_Enter over the Stage, Physicians and others._ _Thom._ What's the matter? Whither go all these men-menders, these Physicians? Whose Dog lies sick o'th' mulligrubs? _Sam._ O the Gentleman, The young smug Seigniour, Master _Valentine_, Brought out of travel with him, as I hear, Is faln sick o'th' sudden, desperate sick, And likely they go thither. _Thom._ Who? young _Frank_? The only temper'd spirit, Scholar, Souldier, Courtier; and all in one piece? 'tis not possible. _Enter_ Alice. _Sam._ There's one can better satisfie you. _Thom._ Mistress _Alice_, I joy to see you, Lady. _Alice._ Good Monsieur _Thomas_, You're welcome from your travel; I am hasty, A Gentleman lyes sick, Sir. _Thom._ And how dost thou? I must know, and I will know. _Alice._ Excellent well, As well as may be, thank ye. _Thom._ I am glad on't, And prithee hark. _Alice._ I cannot stay. _Thom._ A while, _Alice_. _Sam._ Never look so narrowly, the mark's in her mouth still. _Hyl._ I am looking at her legs, prithee be quiet. _Alice._ I cannot stay. _Thom._ O sweet _Alice_. _Hyl._ A clean instep, And that I love a life, I did not mark This woman half so well before, how quick And nimble like a shadow, there her leg shew'd; By th'mass a neat one, the colour of her Stocking, A much inviting colour. _Alice._ My good Monsieur, I have no time to talk now. _Hyl._ Pretty Breeches, Finely becoming too. _Thom._ By Heaven. _Alice._ She will not, I can assure you that, and so.