_Clow._ To conclude, I'm bursten Sir: my belly will hold no meat. _Lap._ No? that makes amends for all. _Clow._ Unless 't be puddings, Or such fast food, any loose thing beguiles me, I'm ne'er the better for't. _Lap._ Sheeps-heads will stay with thee? _Clo._ Yes Sir, or Chaldrons. _Lap._ Very well sir: Your bursten fellows must take heed of surfets: Strange things it seems, you have endur'd; _Clo._ Too true Sir. _Lap._ But now the question is, what you will endure Hereafter in my service? _Clo._ Anything That shall be reason Sir, for I'm but froth; Much like a thing new calv'd, or come more nearer Sir, Y'ave seen a cluster of Frog-spawns in _April_, E'en such a starch am I, as weak and tender As a green woman yet. _Lap._ Now I know this, I will be very gently angry with thee, And kick thee carefully. _Clow._ Oh I, sweet Sir. _Lap._ Peace, when thou art offer'd well, lest I begin now. Your friends and mine have writ here for your truth, They'll pass their words themselves, and I must meet 'em. _Clow._ Then have you all: [_Exit._ As for my honesty, there is no fear of that, For I have ne'er a whole bone about me. [_Exit._ _Musick. Enter the passionate Cosin, rudely, and carelesly apparrell'd,_ _unbrac'd, and untruss'd. The_ Cupid _following_. _Cup._ Think upon love, which makes all creatures handsome, Seemly for eye-sight; goe not so diffusedly, There are great Ladies purpose Sir to visit you. _Pas._ Grand plagues, shut in my casements, that the breaths Of their Coach-mares reek not into my nostrils; Those beasts are but a kind of bawdy fore-runners. _Cup._ It is not well with you, When you speak ill of fair Ladies. _Pas._ Fair mischiefs, give me a nest of Owls and take 'em; Happy is he, say I, whose window opens To a brown Bakers chimney, he shall be sure there To hear the Bird sometimes after twilight: What a fine thing 'tis methinks to have our garments Sit loose upon us thus, thus carelesly, It is more manly, and more mortifying; For we're so much the readier for our shrouds: For how ridiculous wer't, to have death come, And take a fellow, pinn'd up like a Mistriss! About his neck a Ruff, like a pinch'd Lanthorn, Which School-boys make in winter; and his doublet So close and pent, as if he fear'd one prison Would not be strong enough, to keep his soul in; But's Tailor makes another: And trust me; (for I know't when I lov'd _Cupid_,) He does endure much pain, for the poor praise Of a neat sitting suit. _Cup._ One may be handsome, Sir, And yet not pain'd, nor proud.