_Cel._ As if a Lady of my yeares, some beautie Left by her husband rich, that had mourn'd for him A twelve moneth too, could live so obscure i'th towne That gallants would not know her, and invite Themselves without her chargeable proclamations; Then we are worse than Citizens, no widow Left wealthy can be throughly warme in mourning, But some one noble bloud or lusty kindred Claps in, with his gilt coach, and Flandrian trotters, And hurries her away to be a Countesse. Courtiers have spies, and great ones with lharge titles, Cold in their owne estates, would warme themselves At a rich city bonefire. _Is._ Most true Madam. _Cel._ No matter for corruption of the bloud, Some undone Courtier made her husband rich, And this new Lord receives it backe againe. Admit it were my policie, and that My entertainements pointed to acquaint me With many sutors, that I might be safe, And make the best election, could you blame me? _Ma._ Madam tis wisdome. _Cel._ But I should be In my thoughts miserable to be fond Of leaving the sweet freedome I possesse, And court my selfe into new marriage fetters, I now observe mens severall wits, and windings, And can laugh at their follies. _Ma._ You have given A most ingenious satisfaction. _Cel._ One thing ile tell you more, and this I give you Worthy your imitation from my practise, You see me merry, full of song and dancing, Pleasant in language, apt to all delights That crowne a publike meeting, but you cannot Accuse me of being prodigall of my favours To any of my guests, I doe not summon By any winke, a gentleman to follow me, To my withdrawing chamber, I heare all Their pleaes in Court, nor can they boast abroad And doe me justice, after a salute They have much conversation with my lippe, I hold the kissing of my hand a courtesie, And he that loves me, must upon the strength Of that, expect till I renew his favour. Some Ladies are so expensive in their graces, To those that honour 'em, and so prodigall That in a little time, they have nothing but The naked sinne left to reward their servants, Whereas a thrift in our rewards, will keepe Men long in their devotion, and preserve Our selves in stocke, to encourage those that honour us. _Is._ This is an art worthy a Ladies practise. _Cel._ It takes not from the freedome of our mirth, But seemes to advance it, when we can possesse Our pleasures with security of our honour, And that preservd, I welcome all the joyes My fancy can let in. In this I have given The copie of my minde, nor doe I blush, You understand it. _Enter Celestinaes gentlewoman._ _Is._ You have honord us. _Gen._ Madam, Sir _William Sentlove_'s come to waite on you. _Cel._ There's one would be a client, make excuse For a few minuts. _Mar._ One that comes a woing?