_Piso._ 'Tis certain, if there be a way of truth In blushes, smiles, and commendations; For by this light, I have heard her praise yond' fellow In such a pitch, as if sh'ad studied To crowd the worths of all men into him, And I imagine these are seldom us'd Without their special ends, and by a maid Of her desires and youth. _Fred._ It may be so. She's free, as you, or I am, and may have By that Prerogative, a liberal choice In the bestowing of her love. _Lod._ Bestowing? If it be so, she has bestow'd her self Upon a trim youth, _Piso_, what do you call him? _Piso._ Why, Captain _Jacomo_. _Lod._ O, Captain Jack-boy, That is the Gentleman. _Fred._ I think he be A Gentleman at worst. _Lod._ So think I too, Would he would mend, Sir. _Fred._ And a tall one too. _Lod._ Yes, of his teeth; for of my faith I think They are sharper than his sword, and dare do more If the Buff meet him fairly. _Fred._ Very well. _Piso._ Now do I wonder what she means to do When she has married him. _Lod._ Why, well enough; Trail his Pike under him, and be a Gentlewoman Of the brave Captains Company. _Fred._ Do you hear me? This woman is my Sister, Gentlemen. _Lod._ I am glad she is none of mine; but _Frederick_ Thou art not such a fool sure to be angry Unless it be with her; we are thy friends, man. _Fred._ I think ye are. _Lod._ Yes, 'faith, and do but tell thee How she will utterly overthrow her credit, If she continue gracing of this pot-gun. _Piso._ I think she was bewitcht, or mad or blind, She would never have taken such a scar-Crow else Into protection; of my life he looks Of a more rusty swarth Complexion Than an old arming Doublet. _Lod._ I would send His face to the Cutlers then, and have it sanguin'd, 'Twill look a great deal sweeter; then his Nose I would have shorter, and my reason is, His face will be ill mounted else. _Piso._ For his Body, I will not be my own Judge, lest I seem A Railer, but let others look upon't, And if they find it any other thing Than a Trunk-sellar, to send wines down in, Or a long walking bottle, I'll be hang'd for't; His Hide (for sure he is a Beast) is ranker Than the _Muscovy_-Leather, and grain'd like it: And by all likelihoods he was begotten Between a stubborn pair of Winter-boots; His body goes with straps, he is so churlish.