Ros. A wholesome too, sir?

Mir. That’s as you make your bargain.
A handsome, wholesome man then, and a kind man,
To cheer your heart up, to rejoice you, lady?

Ros. Yes, sir, I love rejoicing.

Mir. To lie close to you?
Close as a cockle? keep the cold nights from you?

Ros. That will be look’d for too; our bodies ask it.

Mir. And get two boys at every birth?

Ros. That’s nothing;
I have known a cobler do it, a poor thin cobler
A cobler out of mouldy cheese perform it,
Cabbage, and coarse black thread; methinks, a gentleman
Should take foul scorn to have an awl out- name him.
Two at a birth? Why, every house-dove has it:
That man that feeds well, promises as well too,
I should expect indeed something of worth from.
You talk of two?

Mir. She would have me get two dozen,
Like buttons at a birth.

Ros. You love to brag, sir;
If you proclaim these offers at your marriage,
(You are a pretty-timber’d man; take heed!)
They may be taken hold of, and expected,
Yes, if not hoped for at a higher rate too.

Mir. I will take heed, and thank you for your counsel.—
Father, what think you?

La Ca. ’Tis a merry gentlewoman;
Will make, no doubt, a good wife.

Mir. Not for me:
I marry her, and, happily, get nothing;
In what a state am I then, father? I shall suffer,
For anything I hear to th’ contrary, more majorum;
I were as sure to be a cuckold, father,
A gentleman of antler—

La Ca. Away, away, fool!

Mir. As I am sure to fail her expectation.
I had rather get the pox than get her babies!

La Ca. You are much to blame! If this do not affect you,
Pray try the other; she’s of a more demure way.

Bel. That I had but the audacity to talk thus!

[Aside.

Mir. You shall have your will, sir; I will try the other;
But ’twill be to small use.—I hope, fair lady
(For, methinks, in your eyes, I see more mercy),
You will enjoin your lover a less penance;
And though I’ll promise much, as men are liberal,
And vow an ample sacrifice of service,
Yet your discretion, and your tenderness,
And thriftiness in love, good huswife’s carefulness
To keep the stock entire—

Lil. Good sir, speak louder,
That these may witness too, you talk of nothing:
I should be loth to bear the burthen
Of so much indiscretion.

Mir. Hark ye, hark ye!
Ods-bobs, you are angry, lady!

Lil. Angry? no, sir;
I never own’d an anger to lose poorly.