Both. _'Tis a grave,_ _Gapes to have_ _Those poor fools that long to prove._ 1. _Tell me more, are Women true?_ 2. _Yes, some are, and some as you._ _Some are willing, some are strange,_ _Since you men first taught to change._ Both. _And till troth_ _Be in both,_ _All shall love, to love anew._ 1. _Tell me more yet can they grieve?_ 2. _Yes, and sicken sore, but live:_ _And be wise, and delay,_ _When you men are as wise as they._ Both. _Then I see_ _Fai[th] will be,_ _Never till they both believe._ _Fran. Clora_, come hither; who are these below there? _Clor._ Where? _Fran._ There. _Clor._ Ha? I should know their shapes Though it be darkish; there are both our Brothers, What should they make thus late here? _Fran._ What's the tother? _Clor._ What tother? _Fran._ He that lyes along there. _Clor._ O, I see him As if he had a branch of some great Petigree Grew out on's belly. _Fran._ Yes. _Clor._ That should be, If I have any knowledge in proportion.-- _Fab._ They see us. _Fred._ 'Tis no matter. _Fab._ What a log Is this, to sleep such musique out! _Fred._ No more, let's hear 'em. _Clor._ If I have any knowledge in proportion The Captain _Jacomo_, those are his legs Upon my conscience. _Fran._ By my faith, and neat ones. _Clor._ You mean the boots, I think they are neat by nature. _Fra._ As thou art knavish, would I saw his face! _Clor._ 'Twould scare you in the dark. _Fran._ A worse than that Has never scar'd you _Clora_ to my knowledge. _Clor._ 'Tis true, for I never have seen a worse; Nor while I say my prayers heartily, I hope I shall not. _Fran._ Well, I am no tell tale: But is it not great pity, tell me _Clora_, That such a brave deserving Gentleman As every one delivers this to be, Should have no more respect, and worth flung on him By able men? Were I one of these great ones, Such vertues should not sleep thus. _Clor._ Were he greater He would sleep more I think: I'le waken him. _Fran._ Away ye fool. _Clor._ Is he not dead already, and they two taking order About his Blacks? me thinks they are very busie, A fine clean coarse he is: I would have him buried Even as he lyes, cross legg'd, like one o'th' _Templers_ (If his Westphalia gammons will hold crossing) And on his brest, a buckler with a pike in't, In which I would have some learned Cutler Compile an Epitaph, and at his feet A musquet, with this word upon a Label Which from the cocks mouth thus should be delivered, _I have discharg'd the office of a Souldier._ _Fran._ Well, if thy Father were a Souldier Thus thou wouldst use him. _Clora._ Such a Souldier, I would indeed.