Mir. I have Lady.
Ros. And often glory in their Ruines.
Mir. Yes forsooth;
I have a speedy trick: please you to try it:
My Engine will dispatch ye instantly.
Ros. I would I were a woman, Sir, fit for ye,
As there be such, no doubt, may Engine you too;
May with a Counter-mine blow up your valour:
But in good faith, Sir, we are both too honest:
And the plague is, we can not be perswaded:
For, look ye: if we thought it were a glory
To be the last of all your lovely Ladies.
Mir. Come, come; leave prating: this has spoil'd your Market;
This pride, and pufft-up heart, will make ye fast, Ladies,
Fast, when ye are hungry too.
Ros. The more our pain, Sir.
Lil. The more our health, I hope too.
Mir. Your behaviours
Have made men stand amaz'd; those men that lov'd ye;
Men of fair States and parts; your strange conventions
Into I know not what, nor how, nor wherefore;
Your scorns of those that came to visit ye;
Your studied Whim-whams; and your fine set faces:
What have these got ye? proud, and harsh opinions:
A Travel'd-Monsieur, was the strangest Creature,
The wildest Monster to be wondred at:
His Person made a publique Scoff, his knowledge,
(As if he had been bred 'mongst Bears or Bandoggs)
Shunn'd and avoided: his conversation snuft at.
What Harvest brings all this?
Ros. I pray ye proceed, Sir.
Mir. Now ye shall see in what esteem a Traveller,
An understanding Gentleman, and a Monsieur
Is to be held, and to your griefs confess it,
Both to your griefs, and galls.