_Herc._ As, indeed, why should any woman only love any[188] one man, since it is reasonable women should affect all perfection,[189] but all perfection never rests in one man. Many men have many virtues, but ladies should love many virtues, therefore ladies should love many men; for as in women, so in men; some women hath only a good eye,--one can discourse beautifully, if she do not laugh,--one's well-favoured to her nose,--another hath only a good brow,--t'other a plump lip,--a third only holds beauty to the teeth, and there the soil alters; some, peradventure, hold good to the breast, and then downward turn like the dreamt-of image,[190] whose head was gold, breast silver, thighs iron, and all beneath clay and earth; one only winks eloquently,--another only kisses well,--t'other only talks well,--a fourth only lies well; so, in men, one gallant has only a good face,--another has only a grave methodical beard, and is a notable wise fellow until he speaks,--a third only makes water well, and that's a good provoking quality,--one only swears well,--another only speaks well,--a third only does well. All in their kind good: goodness is to be best affected, therefore they; it is a base thing, and indeed an impossible, for a worthy mind to be contented with the whole world, but most vile and abject to be satisfied with one point or prick[191] of the world. 394 _Zoy._ Excellent Faunus! I kiss thee for this, by this hand. _Sir Amor._ I thought as well: kiss me too, dear mistress. _Zoy._ No, good Sir Amoroso;[192] your teeth hath taken rust, your breath wants airing, and indeed I love sound kissing. Come, gallants, who'll run a caranto, or leap a levalto? 401 _Herc._ Take heed, lady, from offending or bruising the hope of your womb. _Zoy._ No matter; now I ha' the sleight, or rather the fashion of it, I fear no barrenness. _Herc._ O, but you know not your husband's aptness. _Zoy._ Husband! husband! as if women could have no children without husbands. _Nym._ Ay, but then they will not be so like your husband. 410 _Zoy._ No matter, they'll be like their father; 'tis honour enough to my husband that they vouchsafe to call him father, and that his land shall descend to them. (Does he not gnash his very teeth in anguish?) Like our husband? I had rather they were ungroan'd for. Like our husband?--prove such a melancholy jealous ass as he is? (Does he not stamp?) _Nym._ But troth, your husband has a good face. _Zoy._ Faith, good enough face for a husband. Come, gallants, I'll dance to mine own whistle: I am as light now as----Ah! [_she sings and dances_]. A kiss to you, to my sweet free servants. Dream on me, and adieu. [_Exit_ ZOYA. ZUCCONE _discovers himself_.