WIT. And but I am, By the ſad contract, thus to take my leaue of you 195 At this ſo enuious distance, I had taught Our lips ere this, to ſeale the happy mixture Made of our ſoules. But we muſt both, now, yeeld To the neceſſity. Doe not thinke yet, Lady, But I can kiſſe, and touch, and laugh, and whiſper, 200 And doe those crowning court-ſhips too, for which, Day, and the publike haue allow’d no name But, now, my bargaine binds me. ’Twere rude iniury, T’importune more, or vrge a noble nature, To what of it’s owne bounty it is prone to: 205 Elſe, I ſhould ſpeake--But, Lady, I loue ſo well, As I will hope, you’ll doe ſo to. I haue done, Sir. FIT. Well, then, I ha’ won? WIT. Sir, And I may win, too. FIT. O yes! no doubt on’t. I’ll take carefull order, That ſhee ſhall hang forth enſignes at the window, 210 To tell you when I am abſent. Or I’ll keepe Three or foure foote-men, ready ſtill of purpoſe, To runne and fetch you, at her longings, Sir. I’ll goe beſpeake me ſtraight a guilt caroch, For her and you to take the ayre in. Yes, 215 Into _Hide-parke_, and thence into _Black-Fryers_, Viſit the painters, where you may ſee pictures, And note the propereſt limbs, and how to make ’hem. Or what doe you ſay vnto a middling Goſſip To bring you aye together, at her lodging? 220 Vnder pretext of teaching o’ my wife Some rare receit of drawing _almond_ milke? ha? It shall be a part of my care. Good Sir, God b’w’you. I ha’ kept the contract, and the cloake is mine. WIT. Why, much good do’t you S^r; it may fall out, [110] 225 That you ha’ bought it deare, though I ha’ not ſold it. FIT. A pretty riddle! Fare you well, good Sir. Wife, your face this way, looke on me: and thinke Yo’ haue had a wicked dreame, wife, and forget it. _Hee turnes his wife about._ MAN. This is the ſtrangeſt motion I ere ſaw. 230 FIT. Now, wife, ſits this faire cloake the worſe vpon me, For my great ſufferings, or your little patience? ha? They laugh, you thinke? M^rs. FI. Why S^r. and you might ſee’t. What thought, they haue of you, may be ſoone collected By the young Genlemans ſpeache. FIT. Youug Gentleman? 235 Death! you are in loue with him, are you? could he not Be nam’d the Gentleman, without the young? Vp to your Cabbin againe. M^rs. FI. My cage, yo’ were beſt To call it? FIT. Yes, ſing there. You’ld faine be making _Blanck Manger_ with him at your mothers! I know you. 240 Goe get you vp. How now! what ſay you, _Diuell_?