Ver. I have lost my voice with the very sight of this Gentlewoman: good Sir steal away, you were wont to be a curious avoider of womens company.
Mont. Why boy, thou dar'st trust me any where, dar'st thou not?
Ver. I had rather trust you by a roaring Lion, than a ravening woman.
Mont. Why boy?
Ver. Why truly she devours more mans flesh—
Mont. I, but she roars not boy.
Ver. No Sir, why she is never silent but when her mouth is full.
Charl. Monsieur Montague.
Mont. My sweet fellow, since you please to call me so.
Ver. Ah my conscience, she wou'd be pleas'd well enough to call you bed-fellow: oh Master, do not hold her by the hand so: a woman is a Lime-bush, that catcheth all she toucheth.