_Flam._ Turn to my lord, good sister. _Vit. Cor._ Hence, you pander! _Flam._ Pander! am I the author of your sin? _Vit. Cor._ Yes; he's a base thief that a thief lets in. _Flam._ We're blown up, my lord. _Brach._ Wilt thou hear me? Once to be jealous of thee, is to express That I will love thee everlastingly, And never more be jealous. _Vit. Cor._ O thou fool, Whose greatness hath by much o'ergrown thy wit! What dar'st thou do that I not dare to suffer, Excepting to be still thy whore? for that, In the sea's bottom sooner thou shalt make A bonfire. _Flam._ O, no oaths, for God's sake! _Brach._ Will you hear me? _Vit. Cor._ Never. _Flam._ What a damned imposthume is a woman's will! Can nothing break it?--Fie, fie, my lord, Women are caught as you take tortoises; She must be turned on her back.--Sister, by this hand, I am on your side.--Come, come, you have wronged her: What a strange credulous man were you, my lord, To think the Duke of Florence would love her! Will any mercer take another's ware When once 'tis toused and sullied?--And yet, sister, How scurvily this frowardness becomes you! Young leverets stand not long; and women's anger Should, like their flight, procure a little sport; A full cry for a quarter of an hour, And then be put to the dead quat.[74] _Brach._ Shall these eyes, Which have so long time dwelt upon your face, Be now put out? _Flam._ No cruel landlady i' the world, Which lends forth groats to broom-men, and takes use for them, Would do't.-- Hand her, my lord, and kiss her: be not like A ferret, to let go your hold with blowing. _Brach._ Let us renew right hands. _Vit. Cor._ Hence! _Brach._ Never shall rage or the forgetful wine Make me commit like fault. _Flam._ Now you are i' the way on't, follow't hard. _Brach._ Be thou at peace with me, let all the world Threaten the cannon. _Flam._ Mark his penitence: Best natures do commit the grossest faults, When they're given o'er to jealousy, as best wine, Dying, makes strongest vinegar. I'll tell you,-- The sea's more rough and raging than calm rivers, But not so sweet nor wholesome. A quiet woman Is a still water under a great bridge; A man may shoot her safely. _Vit. Cor._ O ye dissembling men!-- _Flam._ We sucked that, sister, From women's breasts, in our first infancy. _Vit. Cor._ To add misery to misery! _Brach._ Sweetest,-- _Vit. Cor._ Am I not low enough? Ay, ay, your good heart gathers like a snow-ball, Now your affection's cold. _Flam._ Ud'sfoot, it shall melt To a heart again, or all the wine in Rome Shall run o' the lees for't. _Vit. Cor._ Your dog or hawk should be rewarded better Than I have been. I'll speak not one word more.