_Mal._ Yet Women go not by the best parts ever; that I have found directly. _Lav._ Why should we fear then? they choose men As they feed; sometimes they settle Upon a White broth'd face, a sweet smooth gallant, And him they make an end of in a night; Sometimes a Goose, sometimes a grosser meat, A rump of Beef will serve 'em at some season, And fill their bellies too, though without doubt They are great devourers: Stock-fish is a dish, If it be well drest, for the tuffness sake Will make the proud'st of 'em long and leap for't. They'll run mad for a Pudding, e'r they'll starve. _La-p._ For my own part I care not, come what can come, If I be whipt, why so be it; if cudgell'd, I hope I shall out-live it, I am sure 'Tis not the hundredth time I have been serv'd so, And yet I thank [God] I am here. _Mal._ Here's resolution. _La-p._ A little patience, and a rotten Apple Cures twenty worse diseases; what say you, Sir? _Lav._ Marry I say Sir, if I had been acquainted With lamming in my youth, as you have been With whipping, and such benefits of nature, I should do better: as I am, I'll venture, And if it be my luck to have the Lady, I'll use my fortune modestly; if beaten, You shall not hear a word, one I am sure of, And if the worst fall, she shall be my Physick. Lets go then, and a merry wind be with us. _Mal._ Captain, your shooes are old, pray put 'em off, And let one fling 'em after us; be bold, Sirs, And howsoever our fortune falls, lets bear An equal burden; if there be an odd lash, We'll part it afterwards. _La-p_. I am arm'd at all points. [_Exeunt._ _Enter four serving in a Banquet._ _1._ Then my Lady will have a bedfellow to night. _2._ So she says; Heaven! what a dainty arm-full shall he enjoy, that has the launching of her, what a fight she'll make. _3._ I marry boys, there will be sport indeed, there will be grapling, she has a murderer lies in her prow, I am afraid will fright his main Mast, _Robin_. _4._ Who dost thou think shall have her of thy conscience, thou art a wise man? _3._ If she go the old way, the way of lot, the longest cut sweeps all without question. _1._ She has lost a friend of me else; what think ye of the Courtier? _2._ Hang him Hedge-hog: h'as nothing in him but a piece of _Euphues_, and twenty dozen of twelvepenny ribond, all about him, he is but one _Pedlers_ shop of Gloves and Garters, pick-teeth and pomander. _3._ The Courtier, marry God bless her _Steven_, she is not mad yet, she knows that trindle-tail too well, he's crestfall'n, and pin-buttock't, with leaping Landresses. _4._ The Merchant, sure she will not be so base to have him. _1._ I hope so _Robin_, he'll sell us all to the Moors to make Mummy; nor the Captain.