Sure he will geld me if I stay: or worse,
Pluck out my Tongue, one o' the two. This Fool,
There is no trusting of him: and to quit him,
Were a contempt against my Chief, past pardon.
It was a shrewd disheartning this, at first!
Who would ha' thought a Woman so well harness'd,
Or rather well-caparison'd, indeed,
That wears such Petticoats, and Lace to her Smocks,
Broad Seaming Laces (as I see 'em hang there)
And Garters which are lost, if she can shew 'em,
Could ha' done this? Hell! why is she so brave?
It cannot be to please Duke Dotterel, sure,
Nor the dull Pictures in her Gallery,
Yet that may be: I have known many of 'em
Begin their Pleasure, but none end it there:
(That I consider, as I go along with it)
They may, for want of better Company,
Or that they think the better, spend an hour;
Two, three, or four, discoursing with their Shaddow:
But sure they have a farther Speculation.
No Woman drest with so much care, and study,
Doth dress her self in vain. I'll vex this Problem,
A little more, before I leave it sure.