_Sis_. But if I thinke you worthy, and accept Your service, it destroies this other reason For your despaire. Why, I can praise you, too.
_Cou_. No, lett it alone I have other reasons Lady Among my papers. But to love or to be in love Is to be guld; that's the plaine _English_ of _Cupids Latine_. Beside, all reverence to the calling, I Have vowd never to marry, and you know Love may bring a Man toot at last, and therefore My fine Gewgaw do not abuse me.
_Sis_. How can I When you will neither Love nor marry me?
_Ser_. Mounsier _Device_, if you be alone, would present his service.
_Sis_. Sir, do me but one favour, ile recant My Love, I wonot have so much as one Good thought on you; I will neglect you, sir, Nay and abuse you, too, if you obscure But for three minutes.
_Sis_. Admitt him.--I wilbe reveng'd o' somebody.-- Now, Sir.
_De_. Tis Justice I present it to your feete Whose love arm[e]d me to vindicate your honour.
_De_. This is but the first of my valour in your cause; If you affect these Monuments ile make You up an Armorie; meane tyme receave My Service with this sword: if he provoke me To fight with him agen, Ile cut his hand of And bring that wo' me to present the next.
_De_. He is not worth the nameing; las, this does not Deserve your knowledge. Only thinke what I Dare do when your bright name is question[e]d, And I in tyme may merit to be cald The darling of your virgin thoughts.
_Sis_. I pray stay. My name traduc'd? who was so impudent? Do me the grace to let me know on whome Your valour had been exercis'd.
_De_. Why, the formall thing _Courtwell_; I would [not] call him Gentleman; but that I ha baffled him You need no other witnes but his sword With that fine holliday hilt, Ladie.
_Sis_. Looke you, sir, I ha made fast the Doore, Because I meane before you goe to have A satisfaction for the base injury You ha done me.
_Sis_. Not that I value _Courtwell_, whome you would Pretend has been to saucy with my honour; But, cause I scorne to owne a goodnes should Depend upon your sword or vindication, Ile fight with you my selfe in this small vollume Against your bulke in folio.
_Sis_. Ide rather have no fame then heare thee name it. Thou fight for a Ladies honour and disarme A gentleman, thou! fence before the pageants And make roome for the porters, when like Elephants They carry once a yeare the Citty Castles, Or goe a feasting with the Drum and foot boyes To the _Bankeside_ and save the Beares a whipping That day thou art cudgeld for thy saucy challenging A sergeant with one eye, that was to much too. Come, Sir, I meane to have a bout with you.
