_Petru._ That shall be too; And if a Tun of Wine will serve to pay 'em, They shall have justice: I ordain ye all Pay-masters, Gentlemen. _Tra._ Then we shall have sport boys. _Mar._ We'll meet you in the Parlor. _Petru._ Ne'r look sad, Sir, for I will do it. _Soph._ There's no danger in't. _Petr[u]._ For _Livia_'s Article you shall observe it, I have ti'd my self. _Petron._ I will. _Petru._ Along then: now Either I break, or this stiff plant must bow. [_Exeunt._ _Actus Tertius. Scaena Prima._ _Enter_ Tranio _and_ Rowland. _Tra._ Come you shall take my counsel. _Row._ I shall hang first. I'll no more love, that's certain, 'tis a bane, (Next that they poison Rats with) the most mortal: No, I thank Heaven, I have got my sleep again, And now begin to write sence; I can walk ye A long hour in my chamber like a man, And think of some thing that may better me; Some serious point of Learning, or my state; No more ay-mees, and [miseries] _Tranio_, Come near my brain. I'll tell thee, had the devil But any essence in him of a man, And could be brought to love, and love a woman, 'Twould make his head ake worser than his horns do; And firk him with a fire he never felt yet, Would make him dance. I tell thee there is nothing (It may be thy case _Tranio_, therefore hear me:) Under the Sun (reckon the mass of follies Crept into th' world with man) so desperate, So mad, so senceless, poor and base, so wretched, Roguy, and scurvy. _Tra._ Whether wilt thou _Rowland_? _Row._ As 'tis to be in love. _Tra._ And why for virtue sake? _Row._ And why for virtue's sake? dost thou not conceive me? _Tra._ No by my troth. _Row._ Pray then and heartily, For fear thou fall into't: I'll tell thee why too, (For I have hope to save thee) when thou lovest, And first beginst to worship the gilt calf: _Imprimis_, thou hast lost thy gentry, And like a Prentice, flung away thy Freedom, Forthwith thou art a slave. _Tr[a]._ That's a new Doctrine. _Row._ Next thou art no more man. _Tra._ What then? _Row._ A Fryppery; Nothing but braided hair and penny ribbond, Glove, Garter, Ring, Rose, or at best a Swabber, If thou canst love so near to keep thy making, Yet thou wilt lose thy language. _Tra._ Why? _Row._ Oh _Tranio_, Those things in love, ne'r talk as we do. _Tra._ No? _Row._ No, without doubt, they sigh, and shake the head, And sometimes whistle dolefully. _Tra._ No tongue?