And say my back was melted, when God he knows, I kept it at a
charge: Four _Flaunders_ Mares would have been easier to me, and a Fencer.
_Lady_. You think all this is true now?
_Elder Lo_. Faith whether it be or no, 'tis too good for you. But so much
for our mirth: Now have at you in earnest.
_L[a]_. There is enough Sir, I desire no more.
_El. Lo_. Yes faith, wee'l have a cast at your best parts now. And then
the Devil take the worst.
_Lady_. Pray Sir no more, I am not so much affected with your
commendations, 'tis almost dinner, I know they stay for you at the
Ordinary.
_Elder Lo_. E'ne a short Grace, and then I am gone; You are a woman, and
the proudest that ever lov'd a Coach: the scornfullest, scurviest, and
most senceless woman; the greediest to be prais'd, and never mov'd though
it be gross and open; the most envious, that at the poor fame of anothers
face, would eat your own, and more than is your own, the paint belonging
to it: of such a self opinion, that you think none can deserve your glove:
and for your malice, you are so excellent, you might have been your
Tempters tutor: nay, never cry.
_Lady_. Your own heart knows you wrong me: I cry for ye?
_Elder Lo_. You shall before I leave you.
_Lady_.
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