Rod. By this rule, all our choices
Are to no ends.
Marc. Except the dull end, Doing.
Rod. Then all to you seem equal?
Marc. Very true Sir,
And that makes equal dealing: I love any
That's worth love.
Rod. How long love ye Signior?
Marc. Till I have other business.
Rod. Do you never
Love stedfastly one woman?
Mar. 'Tis a toil Sir
Like riding in one rode perpetually,
It offers no variety.
Rod. Right youth,
He must needs make a Soldier; nor do you think
One Woman, can love one man?
Mar. Yes, that may be.
Though it appear not often; they are things ignorant,
And therefore apted to that superstition
Of doting fondness; yet of late years Signior,
That worlds well mended with 'em, fewer are found now
That love at len[g]th, and to the right mark, all
Stir now [as] the time stirs; fame and fashion
Are ends they aim at now, and to make that love
That wiser ages held ambition;
They that cannot reach this may love by Index;
By every days surveying who best promises,
Who has done best, who may do, and who mended
May come to do again: who appear nearest
Either in new stampt clothes; or courtesies,
Done but from hand to mouth neither; nor love they these things
Longer than new are making, nor that succession
Beyond the next fair feather: Take the City,
There they go to't by gold weight, no gain from 'em
All they can work by fire and water to 'em,
Profit is all they point at, if there be love
'Tis shew'd ye by so dark a light, to bear out
The bracks and old stains in it, that ye may purchase
French Velvet better cheap, all loves are endless.