From The Lady of Pleasure A Comedie, as It Was Acted by Her Majesties Servants, at the Private House in Drury Lane by James Shirley

You doe not sing so well as I imagind, Nor dance, you reele in your coranto, and pinch Your petticoate too hard, y'ave no good eare Toth' musicke, and incline too much one shoulder, As you were dancing on the rope, and falling, You speake abominable French, and make A courtsey like a Dairie maide, not mad? (Lit: Doe we not sting her hansomely. Bor. A conspiracie.) Your state is not so much as tis reported When you conferre notes, all your husbands debts And your owne reconcild----but thats not it Will so much spoile your marriage. Cel. As what sir? Let me know all my faults. Al. Some men doe whisper You are not over honest. Cel. All this shall not Move me to more than laughter, and some pittie, Because you have the shapes of gentlemen, And though you have beene insolent upon me, I will engage no friend to kicke or cudgell you To spoile your living, and your limbes together, I leave that to diseases that offend you, And spare my curse, poore silken Vermine, and Hereafter shall distinguish Men from Monkies.

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