_Mal._ A courtezan?--Now, cold blood defend me! What a propension[24] afflicts me! _Fran._ O, mine aderliver[25] love, vat sall me do to requit dis your mush affection? _Free._ Marry, salute my friend, clip his neck, and kiss him welcome. _Fran._ A' mine art, sir, you bin very velcome. 190 _Free._ Kiss her, man, with a more familiar affection, so. Come, what entertainment? go to your lute. [_Exit_ FRANCESCHINA. And how dost approve my sometimes elected? She's none of your ramping cannibals that devour man's flesh, nor any of your Curtian gulfs that will never be satisfied until the best thing a man has be thrown into them. I loved her with my heart, until my soul showed me the imperfection of my body, and placed my affection on a lawful love, my modest Beatrice, which if this shortheels knew, there were no being for me with eyes before her face. But, faith, dost thou not somewhat excuse my sometimes incontinency, with her enforcive beauties? Speak. 203 _Mal._ Hah! she is a whore, is she not? _Free._ Whore? fie, whore! you may call her a courtezan, a cockatrice,[26] or (as that worthy spirit of an eternal happiness said) a suppository. But whore! fie, 'tis not in fashion to call things by their right names. Is a great merchant a cuckold, you must say he is one of the livery. Is a great lord a fool, you must say he is weak. Is a gallant pocky, you must say he has the court scab. Come, she's your mistress or so. 212 _Enter_ FRANCESCHINA, _with her lute_. Come, siren, your voice. _Fra._ Vill not you stay in mine bosom to-night, love? _Free._ By no means, sweet breast; this gentleman has vow'd to see me chastely laid. _Fra._ He shall have a bed too, if dat it please him. _Free._ Peace, you tender him offence; he is one of a professed abstinence. Siren, your voice and away. _She sings to her Lute._ THE SONG. _The dark is my delight, 220 So 'tis the nightingale's; My music's in the night, So is the nightingale's; My body is but little, So is the nightingale's; I love to sleep 'gainst prickle, So doth the nightingale._ Thanks; buss; so. The night grows old; good rest. _Fra._ Rest to mine dear love; rest, and no long absence. 230 _Free._ Believe me, not long. _Fra._ Sall ick not believe you long? [_Exit_ FRANCESCHINA. _Free._ O yes, come, _via!_[27]--away, boy--on! [_Exit, his Page lighting him._