this courtesy,
And would not be denied, to wait upon you
This day, to see you tied, then no more trouble you.

Pinac. It needs not, lady.

Lil. Good sir, grant me so much.

Pinac. ’Tis private, and we make no invitation.

Lil. My presence, sir, shall not proclaim it public.

Pinac. May be, ’tis not in town.

Lil. I have a coach, sir,
And a most ready will to do you service.

Mir. Strike, now or never! make it sure! I tell thee,

[Aside to Pinac.

Pinac. Pray you, sir,
Entertain my noble mistress: Only a word or two
With this importunate woman, and I’ll relieve you.—
Now you see what your flings are, and your fancies,
Your states, and your wild stubbornness; now you find
What ’tis to gird and kick at men’s fair services,
To raise your pride to such a pitch and glory,
That goodness shows like gnats, scorn’d under you,
’Tis ugly, naught; a self-will in a woman,
Chain’d to an overweening thought, is pestilent,
Murders fair Fortune first, then fair Opinion:
There stands a pattern, a true patient pattern,
Humble, and sweet.

Lil. I can but grieve my ignorance.
Repentance, some say too, is the best sacrifice;
For sure, sir, if my chance had been so happy
(As I confess I was mine own destroyer)
As to have arrived at you (I will not prophesy,
But certain, as I think), I should have pleased you;
Have made you as much wonder at my courtesy,
My love, and duty, as I have dishearten’d you.
Some hours we have of youth, and some of folly;
And being free-born maids, we take a liberty,
And to maintain that, sometimes we strain highly.

Pinac. Now you talk reason.

Lil. But being yoak’d and govern’d,
Married, and those light vanities purged from us,
How fair we grow! how gentle, and how tender,
We twine about those loves that shoot up with us!
A sullen woman fear, that talks not to you;
She has a sad and darken’d soul, loves dully:
A merry and a free wench, give her liberty,
Believe her, in the lightest form she appears to you,
Believe her excellent, though she despise you;
Let but these fits and flashes pass, she’ll show to you
As jewels rubb’d from dust, or gold new burnish’d:
Such had I been, had you believed!

Pinac. Is’t possible?

Lil. And to your happiness I dare assure you,
If true love be accounted so. Your pleasure,
Your will, and your command, had tied my motions:
But that hope’s gone. I know you are young and giddy,
And, till you have a wife can govern with you,
You sail upon this world’s sea, light and empty;
Your bark in danger daily. ’Tis not the name neither
Of wife can steer you, but the noble nature,
The diligence, the care, the love, the patience;
She makes the pilot, and preserves the husband,
That knows and reckons every rib he is built on.
But this I tell you to my shame.

Pinac. I admire you;
And now am sorry that I aim beyond you.—