_1 Serv. Shamont_, Madam? His very name's worse than a Feaver to him, And when he cries, there's nothing stills him sooner; Madam, your Page of thirteen is too hard for him, 'Twas try'd i'th' wood-yard. _Lad._ Alas poor grieved Merit! What is become of him? if he once fail, Virtue shall find small friendship: farewel then To Ladies worths, for any hope in men, He lov'd for goodness, not for Wealth, or Lust, After the world's foul dotage, he ne'er courted The body, but the beauty of the mind, A thing which common courtship never thinks on: All his affections were so sweet and fair, There is no hope for fame if he despair. [_Exit Lady and Serv._ _Enter the Clown. He kicks_ Lapet. _Lap._ Good morrow to you agen most heartily, Sir, Cry you mercy, I heard you not, I was somewhat busie. _Clow._ He takes it as familiarly, as an Ave, Or precious salutation: I was sick till I had one, Because I am so us'd to't. _Lap._ However you deserve, your friends and mine, here Give you large commendations i'this Letter, They say you will endure well. _Clow._ I'de be loath To prove 'em liers: I've endur'd as much As mortal pen and ink can set me down for. _Lap._ Say you me so? _Clow._ I know and feel it so, Sir, I have it under Black and White already; I need no Pen to paint me out. _Lap._ He fits me, And hits my wishes pat, pat: I was ne'er In possibility to be better mann'd, For he's half lam['d] already, I see't plain, But take no notice on't, for fear I make The rascal proud, and dear, to advance his wages; First, let me grow into particulars with you; What have you endured of worth? let me hear. _Clow._ Marry Sir, I'm almost beaten blind. _Lap._ That's pretty well for a beginning, But many a Mill-horse has endur'd as much. _Clow._ Shame o'th' Millers heart for his unkindness then. _Lap._ Well Sir, what then? _Clow._ I've been twice thrown down stairs, just before supper. _Lap._ Puh, so have I, that's nothing. _Clow._ I but Sir, Was yours pray before supper? _Lap._ There thou posest me. _Clow._ I marry, that's it, 't had been less grief to me, Had I but fill'd my belly, and then tumbled, But to be flung down fasting, there's the dolour. _Lap._ It would have griev'd me, that indeed: proceed Sir. _Clo._ I have been pluck'd and tugg'd by th' hair o'th' head About a Gallery, half an Acre long. _Lap._ Yes, that's a good one, I must needs confess, A principal good one that, an absolute good one, I have been trode upon, and spurn'd about, But never tugg'd by th' hair, I thank my fates. _Clow._ Oh 'tis a spiteful pain. _Lap._ Peace, never speak on't, For putting men in mind on't.