Lug. Ye are not mad sure.
Ros. We shall be if we follow your encouragements;
I'le take mine own way now.
Lil. And I my fortune:
We may live Maids else till the Moon drop Mil-stones;
I see your modest Women are taken for monsters,
A Dowry of good breeding is worth nothing.
Lug. Since ye take it so to th' heart, pray'ye give me leave yet,
And ye shall see how I'le convert this Heretick;
Mark how this Mirabell—
Lil. Name him no more:
For, though I long for a Husband, I hate him,
And would be marryed sooner to a Monkey,
Or to a Jack of Straw, than such a Juggler.
Ros. I am of that mind too; he is too nimble,
And plays at fast and loose too learnedly
For a plain-meaning Woman; that's the truth on't.
Here's one too, that we love well, would be angry;
And reason why: No, no, we will not trouble ye
Nor him, at this time: may he make you happy.
We'll turn our selves loose now, to our fair fortunes,
And the down-right way.
Lil. The winning-way we'll follow,
We'll bait, that men may bite fair, and not be frighted;
Yet we'll not be carryed so cheap neither: we'll have some sport,
Some mad-Morris or other for our mony, Tutor.
Lug. 'Tis like enough: prosper your own Devices;
Ye are old enough to choose: But for this Gentlewoman,
So please her, give me leave.
Oria. I shall be glad, Sir,
To find a friend, whose pity may direct me.
Lug. I'le do my best, and faithfully deal for ye;
But then ye must be ruled.