Lau. All! can there be more to make me miserable?
Ism. I see no reason thou hast to complain:
Come, wipe your Eyes, and take a good Heart;
For I’ll tell thee a Story of my own,
That will let thee see I have much more cause to weep;
And yet I have a thousand little Stratagems
In my Head, which give me as many hopes:
This unlucky restraint upon our Sex,
Makes us all cunning; and that shall assist thee now
With my help, I warrant thee;