Lil. He's mad sure.
Bel. Do you observe me too?
Mir. I may look on ye.
Bel. Why do you grin? I know your minde.
Mir. You do not,
You are strangely humorous: is there no mirth, nor pleasure,
But you must be the object?
Bel. Mark, and observe me;
Where ever I am nam'd;
The very word shall raise a general sadness,
For the disgrace this scurvy woman did me;
This proud pert thing; take heed ye laugh not at me;
Provoke me not, take heed.
Ros. I would fain please ye;
Do any thing to keep ye quiet.
Bel. Hear me,
Till I receive a satisfaction
Equal to the disgrace, and scorn ye gave me:
Ye are a wretched woman; till thou woo'st me,
And I scorn thee asmuch, as seriously
Jear, and abuse thee; ask what Gill thou art;
Or any baser name; I will proclaim thee;
I will so sing thy vertue; so be-paint thee.
Ros. Nay, good Sir, be more modest.
Bel. Do you laugh again?
Because ye are a woman ye are lawless,
And out of compass of an honest anger.