_Mel._ To the true husband, right head of a woman--my will, which vows never to marry till I mean to be a fool, a slave, starch cambric ruffs, and make candles; (pur!)--'tis down, serve again, good wench. 60 _Luc._ By your pleasing cheek, you play well. _Mel._ Nay, good creature, prithee do not flatter me. I thought 'twas for something you go cased in your velvet scabbard; I warrant these laces were ne'er stitch'd on with true stitch. I have a plain waiting-wench; she speaks plain, and, faith, she goes plain; she is virtuous, and because she should go like virtue, by the consent of my bounty, she shall never have above two smocks to her back, for that's the fortune of desert, and the main in fashion or reward of merit; (pur)!--just thus do I use my servants. I strive to catch them in my racket, and no sooner caught, but I toss them away: if he fly well and have good feathers, I play with him[516] till he be down, and then my maid serves him to me again: if a slug, and weak-wing'd, if he be down, there let him lie. 75 _Cel._ Good Mell, I wonder how many servants thou hast. _Mel._ Troth, so do I; let me see--Dupatzo. _Lyz._ Dupatzo, which Dupatzo? _Mel._ Dupatzo, the elder brother, the fool; he that bought the halfpenny riband, wearing it in his ear,[517] swearing 'twas the Duchess of Milan's favour; he into whose head a man may travel ten leagues before he can meet with his eyes. Then there's my chub, my epicure, Quadratus, that rubs his guts, claps his paunch, and cries Rivo! entertaining my ears perpetually with a most strong discourse of the praise of bottle-ale and red herrings. Then there's Simplicius Faber. 87 _Lyz._ Why, he is a fool! _Mel._ True, or else he would ne'er be my servant. Then there's the cape-cloak'd courtier, Baltazar; he wears a double, treble, quadruple ruff, ay, in the summertime. Faith, I ha' servants enow, and I doubt not but by my ordinary pride and extraordinary cunning to get more.--Monsieur Laverdure, with a troop of gallants, is ent'ring. _Lyz._ He capers the lascivious blood about Within heart-pants, nor leaps the eye nor lips: Prepare yourselves to kiss, for you must be kiss'd. 98 _Mel._ By my troth, 'tis a pretty thing to be towards marriage; a pretty loving----Look, where he comes. Ha! ha! _Enter_[518] LAVERDURE, QUADRATUS, LAMPATHO, _and_ SIMPLICIUS. _Lav._ Good day, sweet love. _Mel._ Wish her good night, man. _Lav._ Good morrow, sister. _Mel._ A curtsey to your[519] caper: to-morrow morn I'll call you brother. _Lav._ But much much falls betwixt the cup and lip. _Mel._ Be not too confident, the knot may slip. _Qua._ Bounty, blessedness, and the spirit of wine attend my mistress. 110 _Mel._ Thanks, good chub.