Cour. I am glad, Beaugard, you think so.
Beau. Why thou shalt think so too, man; be ruled by me, and I'll bring thee into good company,—families, Courtine, families; and such families, where formality's a scandal, and pleasure is the business; where the women are all wanton, and the men all witty, you rogue.
Cour. What, some of your worship's Wapping acquaintance, that you made last time you came over for recruits, and spirited away your landlady's daughter a-volunteering with you into France?
Beau. I'll bring thee, Courtine, where cuckoldom's in credit, and lewdness laudable; where thou shalt wallow in pleasures and preferments, revel all day, and every night lie in the arms of melting beauty, sweet as roses, and as springs refreshing.
Cour. Pr'ythee don't talk thus; I had rather thou wouldst tell me where new levies are to be raised: a pox of whores, when a man has not money to make 'em comfortable!
Beau. That shall shower upon us in abundance; and for instance, know, to thy everlasting amazement, all this dropped out of the clouds to-day.
Cour. Ha! gold, by this light!
Four. Out of the clouds?
Beau. Ay, gold! does it not smell of the sweet hand that sent it? Smell—smell, you dog!
[To Fourbin.