_Jac._ I never trouble myself so long beforehand. Jealousies and disquiets are the dregs of an amour; but I'll leave mine before I have drawn it off so low. When it once grows troubled, I'll give vent to a fresh draught. _Beat._ Yet it is but prudence to try him first; no pilot ventures on an unknown coast without sounding. _Jac._ Well, to satisfy thee, I am content; partly, too, because I find a kind of pleasure in laying baits for him. _Beat._ The two great virtues of a lover are constancy and liberality; if he possess those two, you may be happy in him. _Jac._ Nay, if he be not lord and master of both those qualities, I disown him----But who goes there? _Beat._ He, I warrant you, madam; for his servant told me he was waiting hereabout. _Jac._ Watch the door; give me notice, if any come. _Beat._ I'll secure you, madam. [_Exit_ BEAT. _Jac._ [_To_ WILD.] What, have you laid an ambush for me? _Wild._ Only to make a reprisal of my heart. _Jac._ 'Tis so wild, that the lady, who has it in her keeping, would be glad she were well rid on't, it does so flutter about the cage. 'Tis a mere Bajazet; and if it be not let out the sooner, will beat out its brains against the grates. _Wild._ I am afraid the lady has not fed it, and 'tis wild for hunger. _Jac._ Or, perhaps it wants company; shall she put another to it? _Wild._ Ay; but then it were best to trust them out of the cage together; let them hop about at liberty. _Jac._ But, if they should lose one another in the wide world! _Wild._ They'll meet at night, I warrant them. _Jac._ But is not your heart of the nature of those birds, that breed in one country, and go to winter in another? _Wild._ Suppose it does so; yet, I take my mate along with me. And now, to leave our parables, and speak in the language of the vulgar, what think you of a voyage to merry England? _Jac._ Just as Æsop's frog did, of leaping into a deep well in a drought: If he ventured the leap, there might be water; but, if there were no water, how should he get out again? _Wild._ Faith, we live in a good honest country, where we are content with our old vices; partly because we want wit to invent more new. A colony of Spaniards, or spiritual Italians, planted among us, would make us much more racy. 'Tis, true, our variety is not much; but, to speak nobly of our way of living, 'tis like that of the sun, which rises, and looks upon the same thing he saw yesterday, and goes to bed again. _Jac._ But I hear your women live most blessedly; there is no such thing as jealousy among the husbands; if any man has horns, he bears them as loftily as a stag, and as inoffensively. _Wild._ All this, I hope, gives you no ill character of the country? _Jac._ But what need we go into another climate? as our love was born here, so let it live and die here, and be honestly buried in its native country.