_Mont._ Lord, where are my eyes, either you are foolish As wenches once a year are, or far worse, Extreamly virtuous, can you love a poor man That relies on cold meat, and cast stockings, One only suit to his back, which now is mewing? But what will be the next coat will pose _Tristram_. If I should leavy from my friends a fortune: I could not raise ten groats to pay the Priest now. _Char._ I'll do that duty; 'tis not means nor money Makes me pursue your love; were your mind bankrupt, I would never love you. _Enter_ Lamira. _Mont._ Peace wench, here's my Lady. _Lam._ Nay, never shrink i'th' wetting, for my presence; D'ye find her willing _Montague_? _Mont._ Willing Madam? _Lam._ How dainty you make of it, do not I know You two love one another? _Mont._ Certain Madam, I think ye'ave revelations of these matters: Your Ladyship cannot tell me when I kist her. _Lam._ But she can, Sir. _Mont._ But she will not Madam; For when they talk once, 'tis like Fairy-Money, They get no more close kisses. _Lam._ Thou art wanton. _Mont._ [God] knows I need not, yet I would be lusty: But ---- my Provender scarce pricks me. _Lam._ It shall be mended _Montague_, I am glad you are grown so merry. _Mont._ So am I too Madam. _Lam._ You two will make a pretty handsome Consort. _Mont._ Yes Madam, if my Fiddle fail me not. _Lam._ Your Fiddle? why your Fiddle? I warrant thou meanest madly: _Mont._ Can you blame me? alas I am in love. _Char._ 'Tis very well, Sir. _Lam._ How long have you been thus? _Mont._ How thus in love? _Lam._ You are very quick, Sir: no, I mean thus pleasant. _Mont._ --Ever since I was poor. _Lam._ A little wealth would change you then? _Mont._ Yes Lady, into another suit, but never more Into another man: I'll bar that mainly, The wealth I get hence-forward shall be charm'd For ever hurting me, I'll spend it fasting: As I live noble Lady, there is nothing I have found directly, cures the melancholy, But want and wedlock; when I had store of money, I simper'd sometime, and spoke wondrous wise, But never laught out-right; now I am empty, My heart sounds like a Bell, and strikes at both sides. _Lam._ You are finely temper'd, _Montague_. _Mont._ Pardon Lady, if any way my free mirth have offended, 'Twas meant to please you: if it prove too saucy, Give it a frown, and I am ever silenc'd. _Lam._ I like it passing well; pray follow it: This is my day of choice, and shall be yours too, 'Twere pity to delay ye: call to the Steward, And tell him 'tis my pleasure he should give you Five hundred Crowns: make your self handsome _Montague_, Let none wear better cloaths, 'tis for my credit; But pray be merry still.