LANCE. I am but a fool, look you, and yet I have the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave; but that’s all one if he be but one knave. He lives not now that knows me to be in love, yet I am in love, but a team of horse shall not pluck that from me, nor who ’tis I love; and yet ’tis a woman, but what woman I will not tell myself; and yet ’tis a milkmaid; yet ’tis not a maid, for she hath had gossips; yet ’tis a maid, for she is her master’s maid and serves for wages. She hath more qualities than a water-spaniel, which is much in a bare Christian. [_Pulls out a paper_.] Here is the cate-log of her condition. _Imprimis, She can fetch and carry_. Why, a horse can do no more; nay, a horse cannot fetch but only carry; therefore is she better than a jade. _Item, She can milk_. Look you, a sweet virtue in a maid with clean hands. Enter Speed. SPEED. How now, Signior Lance? What news with your mastership? LANCE. With my master’s ship? Why, it is at sea. SPEED. Well, your old vice still: mistake the word. What news, then, in your paper? LANCE. The blackest news that ever thou heard’st. SPEED. Why, man? How black? LANCE. Why, as black as ink. SPEED. Let me read them. LANCE. Fie on thee, jolt-head, thou canst not read. SPEED. Thou liest. I can. LANCE. I will try thee. Tell me this, who begot thee? SPEED. Marry, the son of my grandfather. LANCE. O, illiterate loiterer! It was the son of thy grandmother. This proves that thou canst not read. SPEED. Come, fool, come; try me in thy paper. LANCE. [_Gives him the paper_.] There; and Saint Nicholas be thy speed. SPEED. _Imprimis, She can milk._ LANCE. Ay, that she can. SPEED. _Item, She brews good ale._ LANCE. And thereof comes the proverb, “Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.” SPEED. _Item, She can sew._ LANCE. That’s as much as to say, “Can she so?” SPEED. _Item, She can knit._ LANCE. What need a man care for a stock with a wench, when she can knit him a stock? SPEED. _Item, She can wash and scour._ LANCE. A special virtue, for then she need not be washed and scoured. SPEED. _Item, She can spin._ LANCE. Then may I set the world on wheels, when she can spin for her living. SPEED. _Item, She hath many nameless virtues._ LANCE. That’s as much as to say, “bastard virtues”, that indeed know not their fathers, and therefore have no names. SPEED. Here follow her vices. LANCE. Close at the heels of her virtues. SPEED. _Item, She is not to be kissed fasting in respect of her breath._ LANCE. Well, that fault may be mended with a breakfast. Read on. SPEED. _Item, She hath a sweet mouth._ LANCE. That makes amends for her sour breath. SPEED. _Item, She doth talk in her sleep._ LANCE. It’s no matter for that, so she sleep not in her talk. SPEED. _Item, She is slow in words._ LANCE. O villain, that set this down among her vices! To be slow in words is a woman’s only virtue. I pray thee, out with’t, and place it for her chief virtue. SPEED. _Item, She is proud._