_Wi._ Why do you rail thus? Cannot a scurvy accident fall out, But I must be at one end on't? _La._ Thou art at both ends. _Wi._ Cannot young sullen wenches play the fools And marry, and dye, but I must be the agent? All that I did (and if that be an injury, Let the world judge it) was but to perswade her, And (as I take it) I was bound to it too, To make the reverend coxcombe her husband Cuckold: What else could I advise her? was there harm i'this? You are of years, and have run through experience, Would you be content if you were young again, To have a continual cough grow to your pillow? A rottenness, that vaults are perfumes to; Hang in your roof, and like a fog infect you? Anointed hammes, to keep his hinges turning, Reek ever in your nose, and twenty night caps, With twenty several sweats? _To._ Some Jew, some Justice, A thousand heathen smels to say truth Madam, And would you mellow my young pretty Mistriss In such a mis-ken? _La._ Sirra, Where's the body of my Girl? _Wi._ I know not, I am no Conjurer, you may look the body, I was like to be stol'n away my self, the Spirit Had like to ha surpris'd me in the shape of a woman, Of a young woman, and you know those are dangerous. _To._ So had I Madam, simply though I stand here, I had been ravish'd too: I had twenty Spirits, In every corner of the house a Fiend met me. _La._ You lye like Raskals, Was Mistriss _Newlove_ such a spirit Sir? To fright your worship; Well, I discharge you Sir, y'are now at liberty, Live where you please, and do what pranks you fancy, You know your substance: though you are my Nephew, I am no way bound Sir to protect your mischief; So fare you well. _Wi._ Farewell good Aunt, I thank you, Adiew honest _Nick_, the devil if he have power, Will persecute your old bones, for this Marriage, Farewell Mistress _Win_. _To._ And shall we part with dry lips? Shall we that have been fellow devils together Flinch for an old womans fart? _Wi._ 'Tis a fine time a night too, but we must part _Nick_. _To._ Shall we never ring again? ne'r toss the tenor, And roul the changes [in] a Cup of Clarret? You shall not want what ere I lay my hands on, As I am sure _Automedon_ the Coachman, Shall be distributed; bear up, I say, hang sorrow, Give me that bird abroad that lives at pleasure, _Sam_ the Butler's true, the Cook a reverend Trojan, The Faulkner shall sell his Hawks, and swear they were rotten, There be some wandring spoons, that may be met with, I'll pawn a Coach horse, peace, utter no sentences. The har[nesse] shall be us'd in our wars also; Or shall I drive her (tell me but your will now, Say but the word) over some rotten bridg, Or by a Marl-pit side, she may slip in daintily, Let me alone for my self.