_Lady._ I will not: Fare you well. Ho, who's within there? bring out the Gentlemans horses, he's in haste; and set some cold meat on the Table. _Wel._ I have too much of that I thank you Ladie: take your Chamber when you please, there goes a black one with you Ladie. _Lady._ Farewell young man. [_Exit_ Ladie. _Wel._ You have made me one, Farewell: and may the curse of a great house fall upon thee, I mean the Butler. The devil and all his works are in these women, would all of my sex were of my mind, I would make 'em a new Lent, and a long one, that flesh might be in more reverence with them. _Enter Abigal to him._ _Abig._ I am sorry M. _Welford_. _Wel._ So am I, that you are here. _Abig._ How does my Ladie use you? _Wel._ As I would use you, scurvilie. _Abig._ I should have been more kind Sir. _Wel._ I should have been undone then. Pray leave me, and look to your sweet-meats; hark, your Ladie calls. _Abig._ Sir, I shall borrow so much time without offence. _Wel._ Y'are nothing but offence, for Gods love leave me. _Abig._ 'Tis strange my Ladie should be such a tyrant? _Wel._ To send you to me, 'Pray goe stitch, good doe, y'are more trouble to me than a Term. _Abig._ I do not know how my good will, if I said love I lied not, should any way deserve this? _Wel._ A thousand waies, a thousand waies; sweet creature let me depart in peace. _Abig._ What Creature Sir? I hope I am a woman. _Wel._ A hundred I think by your noise. _Abig._ Since you are angrie Sir, I am bold to tell you that I am a woman, and a rib. _Wel._ Of a roasted horse. _Abig._ Conster me that? _Wel._ A Dog can doe it better; Farwell Countess, and commend me to your Ladie, tell her she's proud, and scurvie, and so I commit you both to your tempter. _Abig._ Sweet Mr. _Welford_. _Wel._ Avoid old Satanus: Go daub your ruines, your face looks fouler than a storm: the Foot-man stayes for you in the Lobby Lady. _Abig._ If you were a Gentleman, I should know it by your gentle conditions: are these fit words to give a Gentlewoman? _Wel._ As fit as they were made for ye: Sirrah, my horses. Farwell old Adage, keep your nose warm, the Rheum will make it horn else-- [_Exit_ Welford. _Abig._ The blessings of a Prodigal young heir be thy companions _Welford_, marry come up my Gentleman, are your gums grown so tender they cannot bite? A skittish Filly will be your fortune _Welford_, and fair enough for such a packsaddle. And I doubt not (if my aim hold) to see her made to amble to your hand. [_Exit Abigal._ _Enter_ Young Loveless, _and_ Comrades, Morecraft, Widow, Savil, _and the rest._