Pen. Why, do you think I am such an ass to believe nobody has meddled with you but I?
Wag. Do you wrong me so much to think otherwise?
Thus 'tis for a poor damsel like myself
To yield her honour and her youth to any,
Who straight conceives she does so unto many:
And as I have a soul to save, 'tis true.
Pen. Pray, do not swear. I do not urge you to't. 'Swounds, now I am undone! You walk somewhat round. Sweetheart, has nobody been tampering with you else? Think on't, for by this light, I am not worth the estate of an apple-wife. I do live upon commending my lord, the Lord of Hosts knows it, and all the world besides. For me to marry thee will undo thee more,
And that thou may'st keep me, keep thee in fashion,
Sell thee to English, French, to Scot, and all,
Till I have brought thee to an hospital;
And there I leave you. Ha' you not heard nor read
Of some base slave that, wagging his fair head,
Does whistling at one end of his shop-walk,
Whilst some gay man doth vomit bawdy talk
In his wife's ears at the other? Such a rogue
Or worse shall I be; for look ye, Mistress Wagtail, I do live like a chameleon upon the air, and not like a mole upon the earth. Land I have none. I pray God send me a grave, when I am dead.
Wag. It's all one. I'll have you for your qualities.
Pen. For my good ones, they are altogether unknown, because they have not yet been seen, nor ever will be, for they have no being. In plain terms, as God help me, I have none.
Wag. How came you by your good clothes?
Pen. By undoing tailors; and then, my lord (like a snake) casts a suit every quarter, which I slip into: therefore thou art worse than mad if thou wilt cast away thyself upon me.