_Iag._ I ioy to heare it; And to say the truth, Both Sexes equally should beare the blame; For both offend alike. But pray’ proceed. _Sfor._ At length, the Aduocate that stood for vs, Preuail’d so farre, with his forc’d Oratorie, The Lord _Nicanor_ too, abetting him, That maugre all the Amazonians wit, Which was (indeed) beyond expression, The sentence past against the female Sex; And the poore Princesse is adiudg’d to death. _Iag._ The Heauens forbid! The Princesse doom’d to die? _Sfor._ Too true, my Lord: I heard the words pronounc’d. _Iag._ A sentence most vniust, and tyrannous. Where’s the Detractor? _Sfor._ Crown’d with Victorie, And intertain’d with Triumph. _Iag._ That iust Heauen Should suffer such an impious wretch to live! I must goe looke the Princesse; when must she dye? _Sfor._ To morrow’s Sun beholds a daughters fall. _Iag._ A Sunne must rise to night, to dimme that Sunne, From the beholding such a horrid deed. ’Twas cruell in a King, for such a fact; But in a Father, it is tyrannie. _Enter_ Misogynos. _Sfor._ Forbeare, my Lord, the times are dangerous. See! here’s the Champion. _Iag._ Looke how the Slaue glories in his conquest, How insolent he stalkes! Shall we indure such saucie impudence? _Sfor._ Put vp, put vp, my Lord, He is not worth our indignation: Let vs a-while obserue him for some sport. _Enter_ Scanfardoe. _Scan._ My noble Fencer, I congratulate Your braue atchieuements in the last dayes triumph. _Mis._ I thanke you, Scholler. Was’t not brauely done? _Scanf._ Done like thy selfe: the spirits of _Mantua_ And old _Diogenes_ doubled in thee. _Mis._ I thinke, I haue giuen The Female reputation such a wound, Will not be cured in haste. _Enter two Gentlemen._ _Iag._ Ha, ha, ha, ha; Pernicious slaue. _1. Gent._ Worthie _Misogynos_. _2. Gent._ Noble Champion, We doe applaud Your merit, in the report Of your late conquest. _Mis._ Thanke you, Gentlemen Truth will preuaile, you see. I speake not for my selfe, in my owne quarrel; But the generall good of all men in the world. _1. Gent._ We know it, Sir. _Iag._ Degenerate Monster, how he iustifies His slandrous forgeries? _Mis._ But, Gentlemen, How goes the rumour? What do’s the Multitude report of mee? _1. Gent._ Oh Sir, the Men applaud you infinitely; But the Women—— _Mis._ I respect not them: Their curses are my prayers. _Iag._ Oh damn’d Rogue! _1. Gent._ If you’le be rul’d by me, go shew your selfe Amongst them all in publique: O 'twill fret Their very galls in pieces. _Iag._ That was well. Some body second that, and we shall see Excellent pastime; for they’le ne’r indure His sight with any patience. _Scanf._ Doe i’faith That they may see you haue conquer’d. _Mis._ And I will. But should they grow outragious—