_Lod._ Faith thou hast found out one I must confess Would stagger my best patience: From that woman As I would bless my self from plagues and surfeits, From Men of war at Sea, from storms, and quicksands, From hearing Treason and concealing it, From daring of a Madman, or a Drunkard, From Heresie, ill Wine, and stumbling post Horse; So would I pray each morning, and each night (And if I said each hour, I should not lye) To be delivered of all these in one, The woman thou hast named. _Enter_ Julio, Angelo, _and Father_. _Piso._ Thou hast set her in a pretty Litany. _Ang._ Pray take my counsel. _Jul._ When I am my self I'le hear you any way; love me though thus As thou art honest, which I dare not be Lest I despise my self. Farewel. [_Exit_ Julio. _Piso._ Do you hear my friend: Sir, are you not a setter, For the fair widow here of famous memory? _Fa._ Ha? am I taken for a Bawd? Oh Heaven! To mine own child too? misery, I thank thee That keepst me from their knowledge: Sir, believe me I understand ye not. _Lod._ You love plain dealing. Are you not parcel Bawd? confess your Function, It may be we would use it. _Fa._ Were she worse, As I fear strangely she is ill enough, I would not hear this tamely. _Piso._ Here's a shilling To strike good luck withal. _Fa._ Here's a Sword, Sir, To strike a Knave withal, thou lyest, and basely, Be what thou wilt. _Ang._ Why how now Gentlemen? _Fa._ You are many: I shall meet you, Sir, again, And make you understand, y'have wrong'd a Woman Compar'd with whom thy Mother was a sinner. Farewel. [_Exit_ Father. _Piso._ He has amazed me. _Ang._ With a blow? By'r Lady 'twas a sound one; are ye good At taking knocks? I shall know you hereafter: You were to blame to tempt a man so far Before you knew him certain: h'as not hurt ye? _Piso._ No I think. _Lod._ We were to blame indeed to go so far, For men may be mistaken: if he had swinged us H'had serv'd us right: Beshrew my heart, I think, We have done the Gentlewoman as much wrong too, For hang me if I know her In my particular. _Piso._ Nor I; this 'tis to credit Mens idle tongues; I warrant they have said As much by our two Mothers. _Lod._ Like enough. _Ang._ I see a beating now and then does more Move and stir up a mans contrition Than a sharp Sermon, here _probatum est_. _Enter_ Frederick, _and Servant_. _Ser._ What shall I tell your Sister? _Fred._ Tell her this, Till she be better conversation'd And leave her walking by her self, and whining To her old melancholy Lute, I'le keep As far from her as the Gallows. [_Exit Servant._ _Ang._ Who's that, _Frederick_? _Fred._ Yes marry is't. O _Angelo_ how dost thou?