Fath. I do guess ye so,
And knew, unless ye were a Souldier,
Ye could not find the way to know my wants.
Jac. But methinks all this while y'are too temperate;
Do you not tell men sometimes of the dulness
When you are grip't, as now you are with need?
I do, and let them know those silks they wear,
The War weaves for 'em; and the bread they eat
We sow, and reap again to feed their hunger;
I tell them boldly, they are masters of
Nothing but what we fight for; their fair women
Lye playing in their arms, whilst we, like Lares
Defend their pleasures; I am angry too,
And often rail at these forgetful great men
That suffer us to sue for what we ought
To have flung on us, e're we ask.
Fath. I have
Too often told my griefs that way, when all
I reapt, was rudeness of behaviour;
In their opinion men of War that thrive,
Must thank 'em when they rail, and wait to live.
Fab. Come, Sir, I see your wants need more relieving,
Than looking what they are; pray go with us.
Fath. I thank you, Gentlemen; since you are pleas'd
To do a benefit, I dare not cross it,
And what my service or endeavours may
Stand you in stead, you shall command, not pray. [Exeunt.
Jac. So you shall us, I'll to the Taylors with you bodily.
SCENE II.
Enter Frederick, Lodovico, and Piso.
Lod. Well, if this be true, I'll believe a Woman
When I have nothing else to do.
Piso. 'Tis certain, if there be a way of truth
In blushes, smiles, and commendations;
For by this light, I have heard her praise yond' fellow
In such a pitch, as if sh'ad studied
To crowd the worths of all men into him,
And I imagine these are seldom us'd
Without their special ends, and by a maid
Of her desires and youth.