War. Which honest men should pay.
Car. Yet some gentlemen break in that point now and then, by your leave, sir.
Som. I confess thou hast had a little wrong in the wench; but patience is the only salve to cure it. Since Thorney has won the wench, he has most reason to wear her.
War. Love in this kind admits no reason to wear her.
Car. Then Love’s a fool, and what wise man will take exception?
Som. Come, frolic, Ned: were every man master of his own fortune, Fate might pick straws, and Destiny go a-wool-gathering.
War. You hold yours in a string, though: ’tis well; but if there be any equity, look thou to meet the like usage ere long.
Som. In my love to her sister Katherine? Indeed, they are a pair of arrows drawn out of one quiver, and should fly at an even length; if she do run after her sister.—
War. Look for the same mercy at my hands as I have received at thine.
Som. She’ll keep a surer compass; I have too strong a confidence to mistrust her.