Taber. Your business? You should be one, though not of my cognisance, yet of my condition,--a serving-creature, as I take it: pray what’s your will with me? Serving-man. Pray, sir, what might I call that gentlewoman, on whom you were attendant? Taber. You may call her what you please; but if you call her otherwise than in the way of honesty, you may perchance hear on’t. Serving-man. Nay, be not offended: I say, what do you call her? Taber. Why, sir, I call her as it shall best please me; sometimes young lady, sometimes young mistress; and what hath any man to do with that? Young Chartley. Are you so captious, sirrah? What’s her name? Speak, and be brief. Taber. Ay, marry, sir, you speak to purpose, and I can resolve you: her name is Gratiana. But all this while I have forgot my mistress’ fan. [_Exit_. Young Chartley. Gratiana! oft have I heard of her, but saw her not till now: ’tis a pretty wench, a very pretty wench,--nay, a very, very, very pretty wench. But what a rogue am I, of a married man--nay, that have not been married this six hours, and to have my shittle-wits run a wool-gathering already! What would poor Luce say if she should hear of this? I may very well call her poor Luce, for I cannot presume of five pounds to her portion. What a coxcomb was I, being a gentleman, and well derived, to match into so beggarly a kindred! What needed I to have grafted in the stock of such a choke-pear, and such a goodly popering[4.38] as this to escape me! Escape me, said I? if she do, she shall do it narrowly. But I am married already, and therefore it is not possible, unless I should make away my wife, to compass her. Married! why, who knows it? I’ll outface the priest, and then there is none but she and her father, and their evidence is not good in law; and if they put me in suit, the best is, they are poor, and cannot follow it. Ay, marry, sir, a man may have some credit by such a wife as this. I could like this marriage well, if a man might change away his wife, still as he is a-weary of her, and cope[4.39] her away like a bad commodity; if every new moon a man might have a new wife, that’s every year a dozen. But this “Till death us do part” is tedious. I will go a-wooing to her, I will; but how shall I do for jewels and tokens? Luce hath mine in her custody, money and all. Tush, I’ll juggle them from her well enough. See, here she comes. _Enter_ Luce _and her_ Father. Luce. Here is my husband; I pray move him in it. Luce’s Father. It toucheth both our reputations nearly; For by his oft repair, now whilst the marriage Is kept from public knowledge, your good name May be by neighbours hardly censured of. Young Chartley. Thou’rt sad, thou’rt sad, Luce: what, melancholy already, ere thou hast had good cause to be merry, and knew’st what sport was!