_Lam._ I must grant There's as much worth in him as can be lookt for From a young Lord, but not enough to make Me change my golden liberty and consent To be a servant to it, as wives are To the Imperious humors of their Lords: Me thinks I'm well, I rise and goe to bed When I think fit, eat what my appetite Desires without controle, my servants study Is my contentment, and to make me merry Their farthest ayms; my sleeps are enquired after, My rising up saluted with respect: Command and liberty now wait upon My Virgin state; what would I more; change all, And for a husband? no; these freedoms die, In which they live with my Virginity; 'Tis in their choice that's rich to be a wife, But not being yoakt to chuse the single life. _Ver._ Madam. _Lam._ How like you the Countrey? _Ver._ I like the ayr of it well Madam, and the rather because, as on _Irish_ Timber your Spider will not make his web, so for ought I see yet your Cheater, Pander, and Informer being in their dispositions too foggy for this piercing climate, shun it, and chose rather to walk in mists in the City. _Lam._ Who did you serve first boy? _Ver._ A rich Merchants widow, and was by her preferred to a young Court-Lady. _L. Orl._ And what difference found you in their service? _Ver._ Very much: for look how much my old City Madam gave to her young visitants, so much my Lady received from her hoary Court-servants. _Lam._ And what made you to leave her? _Ver._ My father (Madam) had a desire to have me a tall-man, took me from thence. _Lam._ Well, I perceive you inherit the wag, from your father. _Ver._ Doves beget Doves; and Eagles, Eagles, Madam: A Citizen here, tho left never so rich, seldome at the best proves a Gentleman: the son of an Advocate, tho dub'd like his father, will shew a relish of his descent, and the fathers thriving practice, as I have heard: she that of a Chambermayd is metamorphosed into a Madam, will yet remember how oft her daughter by her mother ventured to lie upon the rushes before she could get in that which makes many Ladyes. _L. Orl._ But what think you of your late Master? _Ver._ Oh Madam-- [_Sighs._ _Lam._ Why doe you sigh? you are sorry that you left him, He made a wanton of you.