Luc. 'Tis strange you'll not believe me, unless I lay
My imperfection open. I have a nature
Ambitious beyond thought, quite giv'n over
To entertainments and expense: no bravery
That's fashionable can escape me; and then,
Unless you are of a most settled temper,
Quite without passion, I shall make you
Horn-mad with jealousy.
Moc. Come, come, I know
Thou'rt virtuous, and speakest this but to try me.
You will not be so adverse to your fortune
And all obedience, to contradict
What your father has set down.
Luc. These are my faults
I cannot help, if you'll be so good
As to dispense with them.
Moc. With all my heart. I forgive thee before thou offend'st.
Luc. Then I am mighty stubborn and self-will'd,
And shall sometimes e'en long to abuse you:
And for my tongue, 'tis like a stone thrown down,
Of an impetuous motion, not to be still'd.
Moc. All these cannot dismay me; for, considering
How they are passions proper to your sex,
In a degree they are virtues.
Luc. O my fate!
He will not be terrified. Then, not to feed you
With further hopes, or pump for more excuses,
Take it in brief, though I am loth to speak,
But you compel me to it—I cannot love you.
Lor. How do you speed, sir? Is she tractable?
Do you approve of her replies?
Moc. I know not;
Guess you: she said she cannot love me; and 'tis
The least thing I should have mistrusted; I durst
Have sworn she would ne'er have made scruple on't.
Lor. Not love you! Come, she must and shall.
Do you hear, housewife?
No more of this, as you affect my friendship.
What, shall I bring here a right worshipful prætor
Unto my house, in hope you'll be rul'd,
And you prove recreant to my commands?
But, my vex'd soul, thou hast done a deed were able,
In the mere questioning of what I bid,
Were not I a pious and indulgent father,
To thrust thee, as a stranger, from my blood.