Young Geraldine. I’ll answer you in brief: as I observe, Each several clime, for object, fare, or use, Affords within itself for all of these What is most pleasing to the man there born: Spain, that yields scant of food, affords the nation A parsimonious stomach, where[3.04] our appetites Are not content but with the large excess Of a full table; where the pleasing’st fruits Are found most frequent, there they best content; Where plenty flows, it asks abundant feasts; For so hath provident Nature dealt with all. So in the choice of women: the Greek wantons, Compelled beneath the Turkish slavery, Vassal themselves to all men, and such best Please the voluptuous that delight in change; The French is of one humour, Spain another, The hot Italian has a strain from both, All pleased with their own nations--even the Moor, He thinks the blackest the most beautiful; And, lady, since you so far tax my choice, I’ll thus resolve you: being an Englishman, ’Mongst all these nations I have seen or tried, To please me best, here would I choose my bride. Prudentilla. And happy were that lady, in my thoughts, Whom you would deign that grace to. Wife. How now, sister! This is a fashion that’s but late come up. For maids to court their husbands. Wincott. I would, wife, It were no worse, upon condition They had my helping hand and purse to boot, With both in ample measure. Oh, this gentleman I love, nay almost dote on. Wife. You’ve my leave To give it full expression. Wincott. In these arms, then. Oh, had my youth been blest with such a son, To have made my estate to my name hereditary, I should have gone contented to my grave, As to my bed; to death, as to my sleep; But Heaven hath will in all things. Once more welcome; And you, sir, for your friend’s sake. Delavil. Would I had in me That which he hath, to have claimed it for mine own; However, I much thank you. _Enter_ Clown. Wincott. Now, sir, the news with you? Clown. Dancing news, sir; for the meat stands piping hot upon the dresser, the kitchen’s in a heat, and the cook hath so bestirred himself that he’s in a sweat. The jack[3.05] plays music, and the spits turn round to’t. Wincott. This fellow’s my best clock, He still strikes true to dinner. Clown. And to supper too, sir: I know not how the day goes with you, but my stomach hath struck twelve, I can assure you that. Wincott. You take us unprovided, gentlemen; Yet something you shall find, and we would rather Give you the entertain of household guests Than compliment of strangers. I pray enter. [_Exeunt all but_ Clown.