Flo. There's the more hope he may love me among the rest: Hang it, I would not marry one of these solemn fops; they are good for nothing, but to make cuckolds. Give me a servant, that is an high flier at all games, that is bounteous of himself to many women; and yet, whenever I pleased to throw out the lure of matrimony, should come down with a swing, and fly the better at his own quarry.
Fla. But are you sure you can take him down when you think good?
Flo. Nothing more certain.
Fla. What wager will you venture upon the trial?
Flo. Any thing.
Fla. My maidenhead to yours.
Flo. That's a good one; who shall take the forfeit?
Fla. I'll go and write a letter, as from these two sisters, to summon him immediately; it shall be delivered before you. I warrant, you see a strange combat betwixt the flesh and the spirit: If he leaves you to go to them, you'll grant he loves them better?
Flo. Not a jot the more: A bee may pick of many flowers, and yet like some one better than all the rest.
Fla. But then your bee must not leave his sting behind him.