By this hand, I shall thinke my money well bestowed then: but to tell you the truth, Sir, the reason I would learne, is, because I am to bee married shortly: and they say, Then or neuer, is the time for a man to get the mastery. _Mis._ How, marry, Scholer? thou art not mad, I hope. Doe you know what you doe? _Scan._ I know what I shall doe, Master, that’s as good. _Mis._ Doe you know what she is you are to marrie? _Scan._ A woman, I am sure a that. _Mis._ No, she’s a Deuill, Harpie, Cockatrice. _Scan._ And you were not my Master—— _Mis._ Scholer, be aduised, they are all Most vile and wicked. _Scan._ How, Sir? _Mis._ Dissemblers, the very curse of man, Monsters indeed. _Clow._ That Ile be sworne they are, for I haue knowne some of vm, that ha’ deuoured you three Lordships, in Cullices and Caudles before Break-fast. _Mis._ And creatures the most imperfect: for looke yee, Sir, Th’are nothing of themselues, Onely patcht vp to coozen and gull men, Borrowing their haire from one, complexions from another, Nothing their own that’s pleasing, all dissembled, Not so much, but their very breath Is sophisticated with Amber-pellets, and kissing causes. Marry a woman, Scholer? thou vndergo’st an harder task, Then those bold Spirits, that did vndertake To steale the great _Turke_ into Christendome. A woman! she’s an Angell at ten, a Saint at fifteene, A Deuill at fortie, and a Witch at fourescore. If you will marry, marry none of these: Neither the faire, nor the foule; the rich, nor the poore; The good, nor the bad. _Scan._ Who should I marry then, Sir? _Mis._ Marry none at all. _Scan._ Proceeds this from Experience? _Mis._ From Reason, Sir, the Mistris of Experience. Happy were man, had woman neuer bin. Why did not Nature infuse the gift of Procreation In man alone, without the helpe of woman, Euen as we see one seed, produce another? _Clow._ Or as you see one Knaue make twentie, Master. _Mis._ Thou saist true, _Swash_: or why might not a man Reuiue againe, like to the Elme and Oake? _Clow._ Many Logger-heads doe, Sir. _Mis._ When they are cut downe to the very roote, Yet in short time you see, young branches spring againe. _Clow._ If ’twere so at Tyburne, what a fine companie of Crack-ropes would spring vp then? _Mis._ Then we should ne’r be acquainted with the deceitfull deuices of a womans crooked conditions, which are so many, that if all the World were Paper, the Sea, Inke, Trees and Plants, Pens, and euery man Clarkes, Scribes, and Notaries: yet would all that Paper be scribled ouer, the Inke wasted, Pens worne to the stumps, and all the Scriueners wearie, before they could describe the hundreth part of a womans wickednesse.