_Elder Lo_. Sir I dare fight, but never for a woman, I will not have her in my cause, she's mortal, and so is not my anger: if you have brought a nobler subject for our Swords, I am for you; in this I would be loth to prick my Finger. And where you say I wrong'd you, 'tis so far from my profession, that amongst my fears, to do wrong is the greatest: credit me we have been both abused, (not by our selves, for that I hold a spleen, no sin of malice, and may with man enough be best forgoten,) but by that willfull, scornful piece of hatred, that much forgetful Lady: for whose sake, if we should leave our reason, and run on upon our sense, like _Rams_, the little world of good men would laugh at us, and despise us, fixing upon our desperate memories the never-worn out names of Fools and Fencers. Sir 'tis not fear, but reason makes me tell you; in this I had rather help you Sir, than hurt you, and you shall find it, though you throw your self into as many dangers as she offers, though you redeem her lost name every day, and find her out new honours with your Sword, you shall but be her mirth as I have been. _Wel_. I ask you mercy Sir, you have ta'ne my edge off: yet I would fain be even with this Lady. _Elder Lo_. In which I'le be your helper: we are two, and they are two: two Sisters, rich alike, only the elder has the prouder Dowry: In troth I pity this disgrace in you, yet of mine own I am senceless: do but follow my Counsel, and I'le pawn my spirit, we'l overreach 'em yet; the means is this-- _Enter_ Servant. _Ser_. Sir there's a Gentlewoma[n] will needs speak with you, I cannot keep her out, she's entred Sir. _Elder Lo_. It is the waiting woman, pray be not seen: sirrah hold her in discourse a while: hark in your ear, go and dispatch it quickly, when I come in, I'le tell you all the project. _Wel_. I care not which I have. [_Exit_ Welford. _Elder Lo_. Away, 'tis done, she must not see you: now Lady _Guiniver_ what news with you? _Enter_ Abigal. _Abig_. Pray leave these frumps Sir, and receive this letter. _Elder Lo_. From whom good vanity? _Abig_. 'Tis from my Lady Sir: Alas good soul, she cries and takes on! _Elder Lo_. Do's she so good Soul? wou'd she not have a Cawdle? do's she send you with your fine Oratory goody _Tully_ to tye me to believe again? bring out the Cat-hounds, I'le make you take a tree Whore, then with my tiller bring down your _Gibship_, and then have you cast, and hung up i'th' Warren. _Abig_. I am no beast Sir, would you knew it. _Elder Lo_. Wou'd I did, for I am yet very doubtful; what will you say now? _Abig_. Nothing not I. _Elder Lo_. Art thou a woman, and say nothing? _Abig_. Unless you'l hear me with more moderation, I can speak wise enough. _Elder Lo_. And loud enough? will your Lady love me? _Abig_. It seems so by her letter, and her lamentations; but you are such another man.