faster than a court waiting-woman in progress[159]; any man that comes in the way of honesty does she set her mark upon, that is, a villanous jest; for she is a kind of poetess, and will make ballads upon the calves of your legs. I prythee, let her alone, she'll never make a good wife for any man, unless it be a leather-dresser; for perhaps he in time may turn her.
Gera. Thou hast a privilege to utter this:
But, by my life, my own blood could not 'scape
A chastisement for thus profaning her
Whose virtues sit above men's calumnies.
Had mine own brother spoke thus liberally,[160]
My fury should have taught him better manners.
Long. No more words, as you fear a challenge.
W. Rash. I may tell thee in thine ear, I am glad to hear what I do; I pray God send her no worse husband, nor he no worse wife.
Do you hear, love, will you take your cloak and rapier,
And walk abroad into some wholesome air?
I do much fear thy infection: good counsel,
I see, will do no good on thee; but pursue the end,
And to thy thoughts I'll prove a faithful friend.
[Exeunt.
Enter Spendall, Nan Tickleman, Sweatman, Pursenet, and a Drawer.
Spend. Here's a spacious room to walk in: sirrah, set down the candle, and fetch us a quart of ipocras[161], and so we'll part.
Sweat. Nay, faith, son, we'll have a pottle; let's ne'er be covetous in our young days.