Clown. What, if your honour invited the Count Lorenzo? he'll be so melancholy, now his lady and he are parted.
Lod. Pray do as you are bid, kind sir, and let him alone: I'll have no cuckold sup in my house to-night.
Clown. 'Tis a very hot evening; your honour will sup in the garden then.
Lod. Yes, marry, will I, sir; what's that to you?
Clown. Why, your honour was ever as good as your word. Keep the cuckolds out of door, and lay a cloth for my lord in the arbour, gentlemen. [Exit.
Lod. I have been this three months about a project.
Jov. What is't, my lord?
Lod. Why, I intend to compose a pamphlet of all my wife's virtues, put them in print, and dedicate them to the duke, as orthodoxal directions against he marries.
Jas. 'Twill give him apt instructions, when he does marry, to pick out such a woman.
Lod. Pick her! where will he pick her? as the English proverb says, He may as soon find a needle in a bottle of hay. Would I knew what sins she has committed, I would set them down all one with another; they would serve as foils to her virtues: but I do think she has none: d'ye think she has any, gentlemen?