_Enter_ Livia, Byancha, Tranio, _and_ Rowland. _Liv._ Then I must be content, Sir, with my fortune. _Row._ And I with mine. _Liv._ I did not think, a look, Or a poor word or two, could have displanted Such a fix'd constancy, and for your end too. _Row._ Come, come, I know your courses: there's your gew-gaws, Your Rings, and Bracelets, and the Purse you gave me, The Money's spent in entertaining you At Plays, and Cherry-gardens. _Liv._ There's your Chain too. But if you'll give me leave, I'll wear the hair still; I would yet remember you. _Bya._ Give him his love wench; The young Man has imployment for't: _Tra._ Fie _Rowland_. _Row._ You cannot fie me out a hundred pound With this poor plot: yet, let me ne'r see day more, If something do not struggle strangely in me. _Bya._ Young Man, let me talk with you. _Row._ Well, young Woman. _Bya._ This was your Mistriss once. _Row._ Yes. _Bya._ Are ye honest? I see you are young, and hansome. _Row._ I am honest. _Bya._ Why that's well said: and there's no doubt your judgement Is good enough, and strong enough to tell you Who are your foes, and friends: Why did you leave her? _Row._ She made a puppy of me. _Bya._ Be that granted: She must do so sometimes, and oftentimes; Love were too serious else. _Row._ A witty Woman. _Bya._ Had you lov'd me-- _Row._ I would I had. _Bya._ And dearly; And I had lov'd you so: you may love worse Sir, But that is not material. _Row._ I shall loose. _Bya._ Some time or other for variety I should have call'd you Fool, or Boy, or bid you Play with the Pages: but have lov'd you still, Out of all question, and extreamly too; You are a Man made to be loved. _Row._ This Woman Either abuses me, or loves me deadly. _Bya._ I'll tell you one thing, if I were to choose A Husband to mine own mind, I should think One of your Mothers making would content me, For o' my Conscience she makes good ones. _Row._ Lady, I'll leave you to your commendations: I am in again, The Divel take their tongues. _Bya._ You shall not goe. _Row._ I will: yet thus far _Livia_, Your Sorrow may induce me to forgive you, But never love again; if I stay longer, I have lost two hundred pound. _Liv._ Good Sir, but thus much-- _Tra._ Turn if thou beest a Man. _Liv._ But one kiss of you; One parting kiss, and I am gone too. _Row._ Come, I shall kiss fifty pound away at this clap: We'll have one more, and then farewel. _Liv._ Farewel. _Bya._ Well, go thy wayes, thou bear'st a kind heart with thee. _Tra._ H'as made a stand. _Bya._ A noble, brave young fellow Worthy a Wench indeed. _Row._ I will: I will not. [_Exit_ Rowland. _Tra._ He's gone: but shot agen; play you but your part, And I will keep my promise: forty Angels In fair gold, Lady: wipe your eyes: he's yours If I have any wit.