_Saylor._ You must no further. The prison limits you, and the Creditors Exact the strictnesse. _Rom._ Out you wooluish mungrells! Whose braynes should be knockt out, like dogs in Iuly, 140 Leste your infection poyson a whole towne. _Char._ They grudge our sorrow: your ill wills perforce Turnes now to Charity: they would not haue vs Walke too farre mourning, vsurers reliefe Grieues, if the Debtors haue too much of griefe. 145 _Exeunt._ [SCENE II] [_A Room in Rochfort’s House._] _Enter Beaumelle_: _Florimell_: _Bellapert_. _Beau._ I prithee tell me, _Florimell_, why do women marry? _Flor._ Why truly Madam, I thinke, to lye with their husbands. _Bella._ You are a foole: She lyes, Madam, women marry husbands, To lye with other men. 5 _Flor._ Faith eene such a woman wilt thou make. By this light, Madam, this wagtaile will spoyle you, if you take delight in her licence. _Beau._ Tis true, _Florimell_: and thou wilt make me too good for a yong Lady. What an electuary found my father out for 10 his daughter, when hee compounded you two my women? for thou, _Florimell_, art eene a graine to heauy, simply for a wayting Gentlewoman. _Flor._ And thou _Bellapert_, a graine too light. _Bella._ Well, go thy wayes goodly wisdom, whom no body 15 regards. I wonder, whether be elder thou or thy hood: you thinke, because you serue my Laydes mother, are 32 yeeres old which is a peepe out, you know. _Flor._ Well sayd, wherligig. _Bella._ You are deceyu’d: I want a peg ith’ middle. 20 Out of these Prerogatiues! you thinke to be mother of the maydes heere, & mortifie em with prouerbs: goe, goe, gouern the sweet meates, and waigh the Suger, that the wenches steale none: say your prayers twice a day, and as I take it, you haue performd your function. 25 _Flor._ I may bee euen with you. _Bell._ Harke, the Court’s broke vp. Goe helpe my old Lord out of his Caroch, and scratch his head till dinner time. _Flor._ Well. _Exit._ _Bell._ Fy Madam, how you walke! By my mayden-head 30 you looke 7 yeeres older then you did this morning: why, there can be nothing vnder the Sunne vanuable, to make you thus a minute. _Beau._ Ah my sweete Bellapert thou Cabinet To all my counsels, thou dost know the cause 35 That makes thy Lady wither thus in youth. _Bel._ Vd’d-light, enioy your wishes: whilst I liue, One way or other you shall crowne your will. Would you haue him your husband that you loue, And can’t not bee? he is your seruant though, 40 And may performe the office of a husband. _Beau._ But there is honor, wench.