Brutus. The rest we’ll hear within. What offence is there in this, Lucretius? what hurt’s in this, Horatius? is it not better to sing with our heads on than to bleed with our heads off? I ne’er took Collatine for a politician till now. Come, Valerius; we’ll run over all the wenches in Rome, from the community of lascivious Flora to the chastity of divine Lucrece; come, good Horatius. [_Exeunt_. SCENE IV.--_A Room in the House of_ Collatine. _Enter_ Lucrece, Maid, _and_ Clown. Lucrece. A chair. Clown. A chair for my lady. Mistress Mirable, do you not hear my lady call? Lucrece. Come near, sir; be less officious In duty, and use more attention.-- Nay, gentlewoman, we exempt not you From our discourse, you must afford an ear As well as he to what we ha’ to say. Maid. I still remain your handmaid. Lucrece. Sirrah, I ha’ seen you oft familiar With this my maid and waiting gentlewoman, As casting amorous glances, wanton looks, And privy becks savouring incontinence: I let you know you are not for my service Unless you grow more civil. Clown. Indeed, madam, for my own part I wish Mistress Mirable well, as one fellow servant ought to wish to another, but to say that ever I flung any sheep’s eyes in her face--how say you, Mistress Mirable, did I ever offer it? Lucrece. Nay, mistress, I ha’ seen you answer him With gracious looks and some uncivil smiles, Retorting eyes, and giving his demeanour Such welcome as becomes not modesty. Know henceforth there shall no lascivious phrase, Suspicious look, or shadow of incontinence, Be entertained by any that attend On Roman Lucrece. Maid. Madam, I! Lucrece. Excuse it not, for my premeditate thought Speaks nothing out of rashness nor vain hearsay, But what my own experience testifies Against you both; let then this mild reproof Forewarn you of the like: my reputation, Which is held precious in the eyes of Rome, Shall be no shelter to the least intent Of looseness; leave all familiarity, And quite renounce acquaintance, or I here Discharge you both my service. Clown. For my own part, madam, as I am a true Roman by nature, though no Roman by my nose, I never spent the least lip-labour on Mistress Mirable, never so much as glanced, never used any winking or pinking, never nodded at her--no, not so much as when I was asleep; never asked her the question so much as what’s her name: if you can bring any man, woman, or child, that can say so much behind my back as “For he did but kiss her, for I did but kiss her, and so let her go,” let my Lord Collatine, instead of plucking my coat, pluck my skin over my ears and turn me away naked, that wheresoever I shall come I may be held a raw serving-man hereafter. Lucrece. Sirrah, you know our mind.