There is a thousand Women in this Towne,
To imbrace me, would clap their hands for ioy,
And run like so many wild Cats.
Swa. That they would,
I dare be sworne for vm,
And hang about him like so many Catch-poles,
He would ne’r get from vm,
And yet this happinesse is profer’d you.
Atl. Which I cannot refuse,
You haue, you know, such a preuayling tongue,