Mir. You shall have your will, Sir, I will try the other,
But 'twill be to small use. I hope, fair Lady
(For methinks in your eyes I see more mercy)
You will enjoin your Lover a less penance;
And though I'll promise much, as men are liberal,
And vow an ample sacrifice of service,
Yet your discretion, and your tenderness,
And thriftiness in Love, good huswives carefulness
To keep the stock entire—
Lil. Good Sir, speak louder,
That these may witness too ye talk of nothing,
I should be loth alone to bear the burthen
Of so much indiscretion.
Mir. Hark ye, hark ye;
Ods bobs, you are angry, Lady.
Lil. Angry? no, Sir;
I never own'd an anger to lose poorly.
Mir. But you can love for all this, and delight too,
For all your set-austerity, to hear
Of a good husband, Lady?
Lil. You say true, Sir:
For by my troth, I have heard of none these ten years,
They are so rare, and there are so many, Sir,
So many longing-women on their knees too,
That pray the dropping down of these good husbands,
The droping down from heaven; for they are not bred [here],
That you may guess at all my hope, but hearing—
Mir. Why may not I be one?
Lil. You were near 'em once, Sir,
When ye came over the Alpes; those are near Heaven;
But since ye miss'd that happiness, there is no hope of ye.
Mir. Can ye love a man?
Lil. Yes, if the man be lovely;
That is, be honest, modest; I would have him valiant,
His anger slow, but certain for his honour;
Travell'd he should be, but through himself exactly;
For 'tis fairer to know manners well than Countries;
He must be no vain Talker, nor no Lover
To hear himself talk, they are brags of a wanderer,
Of one finds no retreict for fair behaviour;
Would ye learn more?