_Flam._ How! love a lady for painting or gay apparel? I'll unkennel one example more for thee. Æsop had a foolish dog that let go the flesh to catch the shadow: I would have courtiers be better divers. _Zanche._ You remember your oaths? _Flam._ Lovers' oaths are like mariners' prayers, uttered in extremity; but when the tempest is o'er, and that the vessel leaves tumbling, they fall from protesting to drinking. And yet, amongst gentlemen protesting and drinking go together, and agree as well as shoemakers and Westphalia bacon: they are both drawers on; for drink draws on protestation and protestation draws on more drink. Is not this discourse better now than the morality of your sun-burnt gentleman? _Re-enter_ CORNELIA. _Cor._ Is this your perch, you haggard? fly to the stews. [_Striking_ ZANCHE. _Flam._ You should be clapt by the heels now: strike i' the court! [_Exit_ CORNELIA. _Zanche._ She's good for nothing, but to make her maids Catch cold a-nights: they dare not use a bed-staff For fear of her light fingers. _Mar._ You're a strumpet, An impudent one. [_Kicking_ ZANCHE. _Flam._ Why do you kick her, say? Do you think that she is like a walnut tree? Must she be cudgelled ere she bear good fruit? _Mar._ She brags that you shall marry her. _Flam._ What then? _Mar._ I had rather she were pitched upon a stake In some new-seeded garden, to affright Her fellow crows thence. _Flam._ You're a boy, a fool: Be guardian to your hound; I am of age. _Mar._ If I take her near you, I'll cut her throat. _Flam._ With a fan of feathers? _Mar._ And, for you, I'll whip This folly from you. _Flam._ Are you choleric? I'll purge't with rhubarb. _Hort._ O, your brother! _Flam._ Hang him, He wrongs me most that ought to offend me least.-- I do suspect my mother played foul play When she conceived thee. _Mar._ Now, by all my hopes, Like the two slaughtered sons of Œdipus, The very flames of our affection Shall turn two ways. Those words I'll make thee answer With thy heart-blood. _Flam._ Do, like the geese in the progress: You know where you shall find me. _Mar._ Very good. [_Exit_ FLAMINEO. An thou be'st a noble friend, bear him my sword, And bid him fit the length on't. _Young Lord._ Sir, I shall. [_Exeunt_ Young Lord, MARCELLO, HORTENSIO, _and the two others._ _Zanche._ He comes. Hence petty thought of my disgrace! _Re-enter_ FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS. I ne'er loved my complexion till now, 'Cause I may boldly say, without a blush, I love you. _Fran. de Med._ Your love is untimely sown; there's a spring at Michaelmas, but 'tis but a faint one: I am sunk in years, and I have vowed never to marry.