Jun. With a little trim,
That wanton fools call Fashion, thus abuse me?
Take me beyond my reason? Why should not I
Doat on my horse well trapt, my sword well hatch'd?
They are as handsome things, to me more useful,
And possible to rule too. Did I but love,
Yet 'twere excusable, my youth would bear it;
But to love there, and that no time can give me,
Mine honor dare not ask: she has been ravish'd
My nature must not know; she hates our Nation.
Thus to dispose my spirit!
Petill. Stay a little,
He will declaim again.
Jun. I will not love; I am a man, have reason,
And I will use it: I'll no more tormenting,
Nor whining for a wench, there are a thousand.
Petill. Hold thee there boy.
Jun. A thousand will intreat me.
Petill. Ten thousand, Junius.
Jun. I am young and lusty,
And to my fashion valiant; can please nightly.
Petill. I'll swear thy back's probatum, for I have known thee
Leap at sixteen like a strong Stallion.
Jun. I will be man again.
Petill. Now mark the working,
The devil and the spirit tug for't: twenty pound
Upon the devils head.