Lus. Nay, then, I see thou'rt but a puisne
In the subtle mystery of a woman.
Why, 'tis held now no dainty dish: the name
Is so in league with age, that nowadays
It does eclipse three quarters of a mother.
Ven. Does it so, my lord?
Let me alone, then, to eclipse the fourth.
Lus. Why, well-said—come, I'll furnish thee; but first
Swear to be true in all.
Ven. True!
Lus. Nay, but swear.
Ven. Swear?—I hope your honour little doubts my faith.
Lus. Yet, for my humour's sake, 'cause I love swearing——
Ven. 'Cause you love swearing, 'slud, I will.
Lus. Why, enough!
Ere long look to be made of better stuff.
Ven. That will do well indeed, my lord.