Lop. Counters all; adieu, you glistring Spangles of the World; farewel, ye Tempters of the Great, not me. Tell him——
Don John. Stay.
Lop. Go on; tell him he's worse among the Women than a Ferret among the Rabbits; at one and all, from the Princess to the Tripe-Woman; handsome, ugly, old Women and Children, all go down.
Don John. Very well.
Lop. It is, indeed, Sir, and so are the Stories you tell them to bring them to your Matters. The Handsome, she's all Divinity, to be sure; the Ugly, she's so agreeable, were it not for her Virtue, she'd be over-run with Lovers; the light, airy, Flipflap, she kills him with her Motions; the dull, heavy-tail'd Maukin melts him down with her Modesty; the scragged, lean, pale Face has a Shape for Destruction; the fat over-grown Sow has an Air of Importance; the tall aukward Trapes with her Majesty wounds; the little, short Trundle-tail shoots a Je-ne-sçay-quoy: In a Word, they have all something for him——and he has something for them all.
Don John. And thus, you Fool, by a general Attack, I keep my Heart my own; lie with them that like me, and care not Sixpence for them that don't.
Lop. Well said, well said; a very pretty Amusement, truly! But, pray, Sir, by your leave (Ceremony aside) since you are pleas'd to clear up into Conversation, what mighty Matters do you expect from boarding a Woman, you know, is already Heart and Soul engag'd to another?
Don John. Why, I expect her Heart and Soul shou'd disengage in a Week. If you live a little longer with me, Sirrah, you'll know how to instruct your next Master to the purpose; and therefore, that I may charitably equip you for a new Service, now I'm turning you out of my own, I'll let you know, that when a Woman loves a Man best, she's in the most hopeful way of betraying him; for Love, like Fortune, turns upon a Wheel, and is very much given to rising and falling.
Lop. Like enough: But as much upon the Weathercock as the Ladies are; there are some the Wind must blow hard to fetch them about: When such a sturdy Hussy falls in your Honour's way, what account may Things turn to then, an't please ye?