Blanda. All’s one to me, become they me or not, Or be I fair or foul in others’ eyes, So I appear so to my Lionel; He is the glass in whom I judge my face, By whom in order I will dress these curls, And place these jewels, only to please him. Why dost smile? Scapha. To hear a woman that thinks herself so wise speak so foolishly; that knows well, and does ill. Blanda. Teach me wherein I err. Scapha. I’ll tell thee, daughter: in that thou knowest thyself to be beloved of so many, and settlest thy affection only upon one. Doth the mill grind only when the wind sits in one corner, or ships only sail when it’s in this or that quarter? Is he a cunning fencer that lies but at one guard, or he a skilful musician that plays but on one string? Is there but one way to the wood, and but one bucket that belongs to the well? To affect one, and despise all other, becomes the precise matron, not the prostitute; the loyal wife, not the loose wanton. Such have I been as you are now, and should learn to sail with all winds, defend all blows, make music with all strings, know all the ways to the wood, and, like a good travelling hackney, learn to drink of all waters. Young Lionel. May I miscarry in my Blanda’s love, If I that old damnation do not send To hell before her time! [_Aside_. Blanda. I would not have you, mother, teach me aught That tends to injure him. Scapha. Well, look to’t when ’tis too late, and then repent at leisure, as I have done. Thou seest, here’s nothing but prodigality and pride, wantoning and wasting, rioting and revelling, spoiling and spending, gluttony and gormandising--all goes to havoc. And can this hold out? When he hath nothing left to help himself, how can he harbour thee? Look at length to drink from a dry bottle, and feed from an empty knapsack; look to’t, ’twill come to that. Young Lionel. My parsimony shall begin in thee, And instantly; for from this hour, I vow That thou no more shalt drink upon my cost, Nor taste the smallest fragment from my board; I’ll see thee starve i’ the street first. [_Aside_. Scapha. Live to one man! a jest; thou mayst as well tie thyself to one gown; and what fool but will change with the fashion? Yes, do, confine thyself to one garment, and use no variety, and see how soon it will rot, and turn to rags.