_Chi._ When camest thou over wench? _Clo._ But now this evening, And have been ever since looking out _Siphax_, I'th' wars he would have lookt me: sure h'as gotten Some other Mistris? _Chi._ A thousand, wench, a thousand, They are as common here as Caterpillers Among the corn, they eat up all the Souldiers. _Clo._ Are they so hungry? yet by their leave _[C]hilax_, I'le have a snatch too. _Chi._ Dost thou love him still wench? _Clo._ Why should I not? he had my Maiden-head And all my youth. _Chi._ Thou art come the happiest, In the most blessed time, sweet wench the fittest, If thou darst make thy fortune: by this light, _Cloe_, And so I'le kiss thee: and if thou wilt but let me, For 'tis well worth a kindness. _Clo._ What shou'd I let ye? _Chi._ Enjoy thy miniken. _Clo._ Thou art still old _Chilax_. _Chi._ Still still, and ever shall be: if, I say, Thou wo't strike the stroke: I cannot do much harm wench. _Clo._ Nor much good. _Chi._ _Siphax_ shall be thy Husband, Thy very Husband woman, thy fool, thy Cuckold, Or what thou wilt make him: I am over joy'd, Ravisht, clean ravisht with this fortune; kiss me, Or I shall lose my self. _Clo._ My Husband said ye? _Chi._ Said I? and will say, _Cloe_: nay and do it And do it home too; Peg thee as close to him As birds are with a pin to one another; I have it, I can do it: thou wantst clothes too, And hee'l be hang'd unless he marry thee E're he maintain thee: now he has Ladies, Courtiers More than his back can bend at, multitudes; We are taken up for threshers, will ye bite? _Clo._ Yes. _Chi._ And let me-- _Clo._ Yes and let ye-- _Chi._ What! _Clo._ Why that ye wote of. _Chi._ I cannot stay, take your instructions And something toward houshold, come, what ever I shall advise ye, follow it exactlie, And keep your times I point ye; for I'le tell ye A strange way you must wade through. _Clo._ Fear not me Sir. _Chi._ Come then, and let's dispatch this modicum, For I have but an hour to stay, a short one, Besides more water for another mill, An old weak over-shot I must provide for, There's an old Nunnerie at hand. _Clo._ What's that? _Chi._ A bawdie house. _Clo._ A pox consume it. _Chi._ If the stones 'tis built on Were but as brittle as the flesh lives in it, Your curse came handsomlie: fear not, there's ladies, And other good sad people: your pinkt Citizens Think it no shame to shake a sheet there: Come wench. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ Cleanthe _and_ Siphax. _Clean._ A Souldier and so fearfull? _Siph._ Can ye blame me; When such a weight lies on me? _Clean._ Fye upon ye, I tell ye, ye shall have her: have her safelie, And for your wife with her own will. _Siph._ Good Sister-- _Cle._ What a distrustfull man are you! to morrow, To morrow morning-- _Siph._ Is it possible? Can there be such a happiness?