_Elder Lo_. E'ne a short Grace, and then I am gone; You are a woman, and the proudest that ever lov'd a Coach: the scornfullest, scurviest, and most senceless woman; the greediest to be prais'd, and never mov'd though it be gross and open; the most envious, that at the poor fame of anothers face, would eat your own, and more than is your own, the paint belonging to it: of such a self opinion, that you think none can deserve your glove: and for your malice, you are so excellent, you might have been your Tempters tutor: nay, never cry. _Lady_. Your own heart knows you wrong me: I cry for ye? _Elder Lo_. You shall before I leave you. _Lady_. Is all this spoke in earnest? _Elder Lo_. Yes and more as soon as I can get it out. _Lady_. Well out with't. _Elder Lo_. You are, let me see. _Lady_. One that has us'd you with too much respect. _Elder Lo_. One that hath us'd me (since you will have it so) the basest, the most Foot-boy-like, without respect of what I was, or what you might be by me; you have us'd me, as I would use a jade, ride him off's legs, then turn him to the Commons; you have us'd me with discretion, and I thank ye. If you have many more such pretty Servants, pray build an Hospital, and when they are old, pray keep 'em for shame. _Lady_. I cannot think yet this is serious. _Elder Lo_. Will you have more on't? _Lady_. No faith, there's enough if it be true: Too much by all my part; you are no Lover then? _Elder Lo_. No, I had rather be a Carrier. _Lady_. Why the Gods amend all. _Elder Lo_. Neither do I think there can be such a fellow found i'th' world, to be in love with such a froward woman, if there be such, they're mad, _Jove_ comfort 'em. Now you have all, and I as new a man, as light, and spirited, that I feel my self clean through another creature. O 'tis brave to be ones own man, I can see you now as I would see a Picture, sit all day by you and never kiss your hand: hear you sing, and never fall backward: but with as set a temper, as I would hear a Fidler, rise and thank you. I can now keep my mony in my purse, that still was gadding out for Scarfes and Wastcoats: and keep my hand from Mercers sheep-skins finely. I can eat mutton now, and feast my self with my two shillings, and can see a play for eighteen pence again: I can my Ladie. _Lady_. The carriage of this fellow vexes me. Sir, pray let me speak a little private with you, I must not suffer this. _Elder Lo_. Ha, ha, ha, what would you with me? You will not ravish me? Now, your set speech? _Lady_. Thou perjur'd man. _Elder Lo_. Ha, ha, ha, this is a fine _exordium_. And why I pray you perjur'd? _Lady_. Did you not swear a thousand thousand times you lov'd me best of all things? _Elder Lo_. I do confess it: make your best of that. _Lady_. Why do you say you do not then? _Elder Lo_. Nay I'le swear it, And give sufficient reason, your own usage. _Lady_. Do you not love me then? _Elder Lo_. No faith. _Lady_. Did you ever think I lov'd you dearly?