Isab. Had ye love in ye,
Or any part of man—
Pen. Follow that Mistriss.
Isab. Or had humanity but ever known ye,
You would shame to use a woman of my way thus,
So poor, and basely; you are strangely jealous of me
If I should give ye cause.
Lop. How Isabella?
Isab. As do not venture this way to provoke me.
Pen. Excellent well Mistriss.
Lop. How's this Isabella?
Isab. 'Twill stir a Saint, and I am but a woman,
And by that tenure may—
Lop. By no means chicken,
You know I love ye: fie, take no example
By those young gadding Dames: (you are noted virtuous)
That stick their Husbands wealth in trifles on 'em
And point 'em but the way to their own miseries:
I am not jealous, kiss me, —— I am not:
And for your Diet, 'tis to keep you healthful,
Surfeits destroy more than the sword: that I am careful
Your meat should be both neat, and cleanly handled
See, Sweet, I am Cook my self, and mine own Cater.
Pen. A —— of that Cook cannot lick his fingers.