Alb. Ay, when thou wilt; he'll often come to me,
And at my cave sit a whole winter's night,
Recounting of his stories. I tell thee, boy,
Had he offended more than did that man,
Who stole the fire from heaven, his contrition
Would appease all the gods, and quite revert
Their wrath to mercy. But come, my pretty boy,
We'll to my cave, and after some repose
Relate the sequel of each other's woes.
[Exeunt.
Enter Carracus.
Car. What a way have I come, yet I know not
Whither: the air's so cold this winter season,
I'm sure a fool—would any but an ass
Leave a warm-matted chamber and a bed,
To run thus in the cold? and (which is more)
To seek a woman—a slight thing call'd woman?
Creatures, which curious nature fram'd, as I suppose,
For rent-receivers to her treasury.
And why I think so now, I'll give you instance;
Most men do know that nature's self hath made them
Most profitable members; then if so,
By often trading in the commonwealth
They needs must be enrich'd; why, very good!
To whom ought beauty then repay this gain,
Which she by nature's gift hath profited,
But unto nature? why, all this I grant.
Why then they shall no more be called women,
For I will style them thus, scorning their leave,
Those that for nature do much rent receive.
This is a wood, sure; and, as I have read,
In woods are echoes which will answer men
To every question which they do propound. Echo.[391]
Echo. Echo.
Car. O, are you there? have at ye then, i' faith.
Echo, canst tell me whether men or women
Are for the most part damn'd?
Echo. Most part damn'd.
Car. O,[392] both indeed; how true this echo speaks!
Echo, now tell me, if amongst a thousand women
There be one chaste or none?
Echo. None.
Car. Why, so I think; better and better still.
Now farther: Echo, in the world of men,
Is there one faithful to his friend, or no?
Echo. No.