Jac. You are an asse, I'le tell you more anon,
You had better have been hang'd than brought me hither.
Fab. You are grown a sullen fool; either be handsom,
Or by this light I'le have wenches bait thee;
Go to the Gentlewoman, and give her thanks,
And hold your head up; what?
Jac. By this light I'le brain thee.
Fra. Now o' my faith this Gentleman do's nothing
But it becomes him rarely; Clora, look
How well this little anger, if it be one,
Shews in his face.
Clo. Yes, it shews very sweetly.
Fra. Nay do not blush Sir, o' my troth it does,
I would be ever angry to be thus.
Fabritio, o' my conscience if I ever
Do fall in love, as I will not forswear it
Till I am something wiser, it must be,
I will not say directly with that face,
But certainly, such another as that is,
And thus dispose my chance to hamper me.
Fab. Dost thou hear this, and stand still?
Jac. You will prate still;
I would you were not women, I would take
A new course with ye.
Clora. Why couragious?
Jac. For making me a stone to whet your tongues on.