_Eume._ _Polybius_, Where did he get this Vermin? _1 Capt._ Hang him Badger, There's not a hole free from him, whores and whores mates Do all pay him obedience. _Eume._ Indeed i'th' War, His quarter was all Whore, Whore upon Whore, And lin'd with Whore; beshrew me 'tis a fair Whore. _1 Capt._ She has smockt away her blood; but fair or foul, Or blind or lame, that can but lift her leg up, Comes not amiss to him, he rides like a night Mare, All Ages, all Religions. _Eume._ Can ye state it? _Who._ I'le make a shift. _Eume._ He must lie with ye, Lady. _Who._ Let him, [h]e's not the first man I have lain with, Nor shall not be the last. _Enter_ Memnon. _2 Capt._ He comes, no more words, She has her lesson throughly; how he views her! _Eumen._ Go forward now, so, bravely, stand! _Mem._ Great Lady, How humbly I am bound-- _Who._ You shall not kneel, Sir, Come, I have done you wrong; stand my Souldier, And thus I make amends-- [_Kisses him._ _Eumen._ A Plague confound ye, Is this your state? _2 Capt._ 'Tis well enough. _Mem._ O Lady, Your Royal hand, your hand my dearest beauty Is more than I must purchase: here divine one, I dare revenge my wrongs: ha? _1 Capt._ A damn'd foul one. _Eume._ The Lees of Baudy prewns: mourning Gloves? All spoil'd by Heaven. _Mem._ Ha! who art thou? _2 Capt._ A shame on ye, Ye clawing scabby Whore. _Mem._ I say, who art thou? _Eumen._ Why 'tis the Princess, Sir. _Mem._ The Devil, Sir, 'Tis some Roguey thing. _Who._ If this abuse be love, Sir, Or I that laid aside my modesty-- _Eumen._ So far thou't never find it. _Mem._ Do not weep, For if ye be the Princess, I will love ye, Indeed I will, and honour ye, fight for ye, Come, wipe your eyes; by Heaven she stinks; who art thou? Stinks like a poyson'd Rat behind a hanging? Woman, who art? like a rotten Cabbage. _2 Capt._ Y'are much to blame, Sir, 'tis the Princess. _Mem._ How? She the Princess? _Eumen._ And the loving Princess. _1 Capt._ Indeed the doating Princess. _Mem._ Come hither once more, The Princess smells like mornings breath, pure Amber, Beyond the courted _Indies_ in her spices. Still a dead Rat by Heaven; thou a Princess? _Eumen._ What a dull Whore is this! _Mem._ I'le tell ye presently, For if she be a Princess, as she may be And yet stink too, and strongly, I shall find her; Fetch the _Numidian_ Lyon I brought over, If she be sprung from the Royal blood, the Lyon, He'l do you reverence, else-- _Who._ I beseech your Lordship-- _Eumen._ He'l tear her all to pieces. _Who._ I am no Princess, Sir. _Mem._ Who brought thee hither? _2 Capt._ If ye confess, we'll hang ye. _Who._ Good my Lord-- _Mem._ Who art thou then? _Who._ A poor retaining Whore, Sir, To one of your Lordships Captains.