_Row._ Yes _Tranio_, but no truth in't, nor no reason, And when they cant (for 'tis a kind of canting) Ye shall hear, if you reach to understand 'em (Which you must be a fool first, or you cannot) Such gibb'rish; such believe me, I protest Sweet, And oh dear Heavens, in which such constellations Reign at the births of Lovers, this is too well, And daigne me Lady, daigne me I beseech ye You poor unworthy lump, and then she licks him. _Tra._ A ---- on't, this is nothing. _Row._ Thou hast hit it: Then talks she ten times worse, and wryes, and wriggles, As though she had the Itch (and so it may be.) _Tra._ Why thou art grown a strange discoverer. _Row._ Of mine own follies _Tranio_. _Tra._ Wilt thou _Rowland_, Certain ne'er love again? _Row._ I think so, certain, And if I be not dead drunk I shall keep it. _Tra._ Tell me but this; what dost thou think of women? _Row._ Why, as I think of Fiddles, they delight me, Till their strings break. _Tra._ What strings? _Row._ Their modesties, Faiths, Vows, and Maidenheads, for they are like Kits They have but four strings to 'em. _Tra._ What wilt thou Give me for ten pound now, when thou next lovest, And the same woman still? _Row._ Give me the money; A hundred, and my Bond for't. _Tra._ But pray hear me, I'll work all means I can to reconcile ye: _Row._ Do, do, Give me the money; _Tra._ There. _Row._ Work _Tranio_. _Tra._ You shall go sometimes where she is. _Row._ Yes straight. This is the first good I e'er got by woman. _Tra._ You would think it strange now, if another beauty As good as hers, say better. _Row._ Well. _Tra._ Conceive me, This is no point o' th' wager. _Row._ That's all one. _Tra._ Love you as much, or more, than now she hates you. _Row._ 'Tis a good hearing, let 'em love: ten pound more, I never love that woman. _Tra._ There it is; And so an hundred, if you lose. _Row._ 'Tis done; Have you another to put in? _Tra._ No, no Sir. _Row._ I am very sorry: now will I erect A new game, and go hate for th' bell; I am sure I am in excellent case to win. _Tra._ I must have leave To tell you, and tell truth too, what she is, And how she suffers for you. _Row._ Ten pound more, I never believe you. _Tra._ No Sir, I am stinted. _Row._ Well, take your best way then. _Tra._ Let's walk, I am glad Your sullen Feavor's off. _Row._ Shalt see me _Tranio_ A monstrous merry man now: let's to the Wedding, And as we go, tell me the general hurry Of these mad wenches and their works. _Tra._ I will. _Row._ And do thy worst. _Tra._ Something I'll do. _Row._ Do _Tranio_. [_Exeunt._ _Scaena Secunda._ _Enter_ Pedro, _and_ Jaques. _Ped._ A pair of Stocks bestride 'em, Are they gone?