Lady Lent. Good my lord, learn to swear by rote;
Your birth and fortune makes my brain suppose
That, like a man heated with wines and lust,
She that is next your object is your mate,
Till the foul water have quench’d out the fire.
You, the duke’s kinsman, tell me I am young,
Fair, rich, and virtuous. I myself will flatter
Myself, till you are gone that are more fair,
More rich, more virtuous, and more debonair:
All which are ladders to an higher reach. 260
Who drinks a puddle that may taste a spring?
Who kiss a subject that may hug a king?
Men. Yes, the camel always drinks in puddle-water;
And as for huggings, read antiquities.
Faith, madam, I’ll board thee one of these days.
Lady Lent. Ay, but ne’er bed me, my lord. My vow is firm,
Since God hath called me to this noble state,
Much to my grief, of virtuous widow-hood,
No man shall ever come within my gates.
Men. Wilt thou ram up thy porch-hold? O widow, I perceive 270
You’re ignorant of the lover’s legerdemain!
There is a fellow that by magic will assist
To murder princes invisible; I can command his spirit.
Or what say you to a fine scaling-ladder of ropes?
I can tell you I am a mad wag-halter;
But by the virtue I see seated in you,
And by the worthy fame is blazon’d of you;
By little Cupid, that is mighty nam’d,
And can command my looser follies down,
I love, and must enjoy, yet with such limits 280
As one that knows enforcèd marriage
To be the Furies’ sister. Think of me.
Men. How now, lady? does the toy take you, as they say?
Abi. No, my lord; nor do we take your toy, as they say.
This is a child’s birth that must not be delivered before a man,
Though your lordship might be a midwife for your chin.
Men. Some bawdy riddle, is ’t not? You long till ’t be night. 290
Tha. No, my lord, women’s longing comes after their marriage night. Sister, see you be constant now.