SIMON
Why, whither should we go?
SIR WALTER
You to the Court, where now your brother John
Commits a rape on Fortune.
SIMON
Luck to John!
A light-heel'd strumpet, when the sport is done.
SIR WALTER
You to the sweet society of your equals,
Where the world's fashion smiles on youth and beauty.
MARGARET
Where young men's flatteries cozen young maids' beauty,
There pride oft gets the vantage hand of duty,
There sweet humility withers.
SIMON
Mistress Margaret,
How fared my brother John, when you left Devon?
MARGARET
John was well, Sir.
SIMON
'Tis now nine months almost,
Since I saw home. What new friends has John made?
Or keeps he his first love?—I did suspect
Some foul disloyalty. Now do I know,
John has prov'd false to her, for Margaret weeps.
It is a scurvy brother.
SIR WALTER
Fie upon it.
All men are false, I think. The date of love
Is out, expired, its stories all grown stale,
O'erpast, forgotten, like an antique tale
Of Hero and Leander.
SIMON I have known some men that are too general-contemplative for the narrow passion. I am in some sort a general lover.