_Cu._ Now if you'll follow me Sir, I've that power, To make them follow you.
_Cu._ All, all Sir, every mothers daughter of 'em.
_Pas._ Then there's no fear of following; if they be once shot They'll follow a man to th' devil--As for you, Sir--
_Sold._ A noise, a threatening, did you not hear it Sir?
_1 Gent._ Without regard, Sir, so would I hear you.
_Sold._ This must come to something, never talk of that Sir. You never saw it otherwise.
_Sold._ I will be arm'd, my honourable Letcher.
_Sold._ That devours womens honesties by lumps, And never chaw'st thy pleasure:
_Sold._ What does he mean t'ingross all to himself? There's others love a whore as well as he Sir.
_1 Gent._ Oh, if that be part o' th' fury, we have a City Is very well provided for that case; Let him alone with her, Sir, we have Women Are very charitable to proper men, And to a Soldier that has all his limbs; Marry the sick and lame gets not a penny: Right womens charity, and the Husbands follow't too: Here comes his Highness Sir.
_Sold._ I'll walk to cool my self. [_Exit._
_Duke._ He's Brother then To all the Courts love, they that love discreetly, And place their friendliness upon desert: As for the rest, that with a double face Look upon merit much like fortunes visage, That looks two ways, both to life's calms and storms, I'll so provide for him, chiefly for him, He shall not wish their loves, nor dread their envies. And here comes my _Shamont_.
_Sham._ That Ladies virtues are my only joyes, And he to offer to lay siege to them?
_Sham._ Her goodness is my pride: in all discourses, As often as I hear rash tongu'd gallants, Speak rudely of a woman, presently I give in but her name, and th'are all silent: Oh who would loose this benefit?
_Sham._ 'Tis like the Gift of Healing, but Diviner; For that but cures diseases in the body, This works a cure on Fame, on Reputation: The noblest piece of Surgery upon earth.
_Duke. Shamont_ I say. [_Gives him a touch with his switch._
_Sham._ Ha? If he be mortal, by this hand he perishes; [_Draws._ Unless it be a stroke from heaven, he dies for't.
_Sham._ Can you ask it, Sir? No man else should; stood forty lives before him, By this I would have op'd my way to him; It could not be you Sir, excuse him not, What e'er he be, as y'are dear to honor, That I may find my peace agen.