Young Chartley. True, my losing had took away my senses, Both of seeing and feeling; but better luck Hath brought them to their right temper. But come--a pox of dice! ’tis time to give over. Sencer. All times are times for winners to give over, But not for them that lose. I’ll play till midnight, But I will change my luck. Haringfield. Come, come, you shall not. Give over; tush, give over; do, I pray, And choose the fortune of some other hour: Let’s not, like debauched fellows, play our clothes, Belts, rapiers, nor our needful ornaments: ’Tis childish, not becoming gentlemen. Play was at first ordained to pass the time; And, sir, you but abuse the use of play To employ it otherwise. Sencer. You may persuade me. For once I’ll leave a loser. Young Chartley. Then come, put on your helmet; let’s leave this abominable game, and find out some better exercise. I cannot endure this chafing when men lose. Sencer. And there’s not a more testy waspish companion than thyself when thou art a loser, and yet thou must be vexing others with “Play patiently, gentlemen, and let’s have no swearing.” Young Chartley. A sign that I can give good counsel better than take it: but say, where be the prettiest wenches, my hearts? Sencer. Well remembered; this puts me in mind of an appointment I had with a gentlewoman of some respect. Young Chartley. I have you, sir, I have you; but I think you will never have her: ’tis Gratiana, the knight’s daughter in Gracious Street.[4.04] Have I touched you? Sencer. You have come somewhat near me, but touched me not. Master Haringfield, will you bear me company thither? Have you seen the gentlewoman, Master Chartley? Young Chartley. Never, sir. Sencer. How have you heard of her? Young Chartley. That she hath as other women have; that she goes for a maid, as others do, &c.[4.05] Sencer. I can assure you she is a proper gentlewoman. Young Chartley. Then, if she have you, she is like to have a proper gentleman. Sencer. You should tell them so that know it not. Adieu, gentlemen. [_Exeunt_ Sencer _and_ Haringfield. Boyster. I am glad yet they go so lightly away. Young Chartley. What will you do, Master Boyster? Boyster. Somewhat. Young Chartley. You will not acquaint me with your business? Boyster. No. I am in love; my head is full of proclamations. There is a thing called a virgin. Nature hath showed her art in making her. Court her I cannot, but I’ll do as I may. Young Chartley. Do you go or stay, sir? Boyster. Go. [_Exit_.