Cas. You'll repent this. [Exit.
Fred. She's angry, and t'other crying too, my suit's cold.
I'll make your heart ake, stubborn Wench, for this;
Turn not so angry from me, I will speak to you,
Are you grown proud with your delight, good Lady,
So pamper'd with your sport you scorn to know me?
Evan. I scorn ye not, I would you scorn'd not me, Sir,
And forc't me to be weary of my duty,
I know your Grace, would I had never seen ye.
Fred. Because I love you, because I dote upon ye,
Because I am a man that seek to please ye.
Evan. I have man enough already to content me,
As much, as noble, and as worthy of me,
As all the World can yield.
Fred. That's but your modesty,
You have no man, nay never look upon me,
I know it, Lady, no man to content ye,
No man that can, or at the least, that dares,
Which is a poorer man, and nearer nothing.
Evan. Be nobler, Sir, inform'd.
Fred. I'll tell thee, Wench,
The poor condition of this poorer fellow,
And make thee blush for shame at thine own errour,
He never tendred yet a husbands duty,
To thy warm longing bed.
Evan. How should he know that?
Fred. I am sure he did not, for I charg'd him no,
Upon his life I charg'd him, but to try him;
Could any brave or noble spirit stop here?
Was life to be preferr'd before affection?
Lawful and long'd for too?