And such love linsey woolsey, to no purpose. _Lor._ You chide me hansomely, pray tell me how You like this language. _Cel._ Good my Lord forbeare. _Lor._ You neede not flie out of this circle Madam, These widowes so are full of circumstance, Ile undertake in this time I ha courted Your Ladiship for the toy, to ha broken ten, Nay twenty colts, Virgins I meane, and taught em The amble, or what pace I most affected. _Cel._ Y'are not my Lord agen, the Lord I thought you, And I must tell you now, you doe forget Your selfe and me. _Lor._ You'le not be angry Madam. _Cel._ Nor rude, though gay men have a priviledge, It shall appeare, there is a man my Lord Within my acquaintance, rich in worldly fortunes, But cannot boast any descent of bloud, Would buy a coate of armes. _Lor._ He may, and legges booted and spurr'd to ride into the countrey. _Cel._ But these will want antiquitie: my Lord The seale of honour, whats a coate cut out But yesterday to make a man a gentleman? Your family as old, as the first vertue That merited an Escucheon, doth owe A glorious coat of armes, if you will sell now All that your name doth challenge in that ensigne, Ile helpe you to a chapman, that shall pay And powre downe wealth enough fort. _Lor._ Sell my armes? I cannot Madam. _Cel._ Give but your consent, You know not how the state may be enclind To dispensation, we may prevaile Vpon the Heralds office afterward. _Lor._ Ile sooner give these armess to'th hangmans axe, My head, my heart, to twenty executions Than sell one atome from my name. _Cel._ Change that, And answer him would buy my honour from me. Honour that is not worne upon a flagge Or pennon, that without the owners dangers, An enemy may ravish, and beare from me, But that which growes and withers with my soule, Beside the bodies staine, think, thinke my Lord To what you would unworthily betray me, If you would not for price of gold, or pleasure, (If that be more your idoll) lose the glory And painted honour of your house----I ha done. _Lor._ Enough to rectifie a Satires bloud, Obscure my blushes here. _Enter Sentlove and Hairecut._ _Ha._ Or this or fight with me, It shall be no exception that I waite Vpon my Lord, I am a gentleman, You may be lesse and be a Knight, the office, I doe my Lord is honest sir, how many Such you have beene guilty of, heaven knowes. _Sent._ Tis no feare of your sword, but that I wod not Breake the good lawes established against duells. _Ha._ Off with your periwig, and stand bare. _Lor._ From this Minute ile be a servant to thy goodnesse, A Mistris in the wanton sence is common, Ile honor you with chaste thoughts, and call you so. _Cel._ Ile study to be worth your faire opinion. _Lor._ _Sentlove_, your head was usd to a covering, Beside a hat, when went the haire away.