Sir Reu. Since 'tis my fate, I would be branched nobly,
Lest mine adulterate line degenerate,
And raze the ancient splendour of mine house,
As many noble families have done
By mixing with inferior apple-squires,
Grooms, pages, ushers, which in time begot
Such middle wits in this our middle region,
None could distinguish them from Corydons,
Nor well discover whence they might derive
Their prime descent, unless it were by th' crest
Their footmen wore, or what their coach presented
In its rear quarter. All your Sir Reuben begs
Aims mainly at your honour's privilege,
Which shielded, I'm secure; and it is this:
"Let choice hands meddle with your tinder-box!"
Tin. Make that your least of fears. We'll keep our fame,
Amidst this freedom, still unblemished.
Knights. So we have all receiv'd their final answers.
Sir Reu. Now[140] do I mean to draw up my rejoinder.
"He who will lose his wits or break his heart
For such a wench as will not take his part,
And will not shun what he may safely fly,
May he a Bedlam or a beggar die!"
Knights. Farewell, inconstant ladies.
Ladies. Adieu, constant Acteons.
[Exeunt omnes, the Ladies ushered in by their Confidants.