Char. I, she is a stirring woman indeed: There's a brain Brother.
Tim. There's not a handsom wench of any mettle
Within an hundred miles, but her intelligence
Reaches her, and out-reaches her, and brings her
As confidently to Court, as to a sanctuary:
What had his mouldy brains ever arriv'd at,
Had not she beaten it out o'th' Flint to fasten him?
They say she keeps an office of Concealments:
There is no young wench, let her be a Saint,
Unless she live i'th' Center, but she finds her,
And every way prepares addresses to her:
If my wife would have followed her course Charinthus,
Her lucky course, I had the day before him:
O what might I have been by this time, Brother?
But she (forsooth) when I put these things to her,
These things of honest thrift, groans, O my conscience,
The load upon my conscience, when to make us cuckolds,
They have no more burthen than a brood-[goose], Brother;
But let's doe what we can, though this wench fail us,
Another of a new way will be lookt at:
Come, let's abroad, and beat our brains, time may
For all his wisdom, yet give us a day. [Exeunt.
SCENA II.
Drum within, Alarm, Enter Demetrius, and Leontius.
Dem. I will not see 'em fall thus, give me way Sir, I shall forget you love me else.
Leo. Will ye lose all?
For me to be forgotten, to be hated,
Nay never to have been a man, is nothing,
So you, and those we have preserv'd from slaughter
Come safely off.
Dem. I have lost my self.
Leo. You are cozen'd.
Dem. And am most miserable.
Leo. There's no man so, but he that makes himself so.