_Val._ Thus they say too, what though you have a Coach lined through with velvet, and four fair _Flanders_ mares, why should the streets be troubled continually with you, till Carmen curse you? can there be ought in this but pride of shew Lady, and pride of bum-beating, till the learned lawyers with their fat bags, are thrust against the bulks till all their causes crack? why should this Lady, and t'other Lady, and the third sweet Lady, and Madam at _Mile-end_, be daily visited, and your poorer neighbours, with course napfes neglected, fashions conferr'd about, pouncings, and paintings, and young mens bodies read on like Anatomies. _Wid._ You are very credulous, and somewhat desperate, to deliver this Sir, to her you know not, but you shall confess me, and find I will not start; in us all meetings lie open to these lewd reports, and our thoughts at Church, our very meditations some will swear, which all should fear to judge, at least uncharitably, are mingled with your memories, cannot sleep, but this sweet Gentleman swims in our fancies, that scarlet man of war, and that smooth senior; not dress our heads without new ambushes, how to surprize that greatness, or that glorie; our very smiles are subject to constructions; nay Sir, it's come to this we cannot pish, but 'tis a favour for some fool or other: should we examine you thus, wer't not possible to take you without Perspectives? [_Val._] It may be, but these excuse not. _Wid._ Nor yours force no truth Sir, what deadly tongues you have, and to those tongues what hearts, and what inventions? O' my conscience, and 'twere not for sharp justice, you would venture to aim at your own mothers, and account it glorie to say you had done so: all you think are counsels, and cannot erre, 'tis we still that shew double, giddy, or gorg'd with passion; we that build Babels for mens conclusions, we that scatter, as day does his warm light; our killing curses over Gods creatures, next to the devils malice: lets intreat your good words. _Val._ Well, this woman has a brave soul. _Wid._ Are not we gaily blest then, and much beholding to you for your substance? you may do what you list, we what beseems us, and narrowly do that too, and precisely, our names are served in else at Ordinaries, and belcht abroad in Taverns. _Val._ O most brave Wench, and able to redeem an age of women. _Wid._ You are no Whoremasters? Alas, no, Gentlemen, it were an impudence to think you vicious: you are so holy, handsome Ladies fright you, you are the cool things of the time, the temperance, meer Emblems of the Law, and veils of Vertue, you are not daily mending like Dutch Watches, and plastering like old Walls; they are not Gentlemen, that with their secret sins increase our Surgeons, and lie in Foraign Countries, for new sores; Women are all these Vices; you are not envious, false, covetous, vain-glorious, irreligious, drunken, revengeful, giddie-eyed like Parrots, eaters of others honours. _Val._ You are angry.