Ben Jonson - The Devil Is an Ass Act 4 Scene 3 lyrics

Merecraft, Wittipol, [To them. Wittipol, drest like a Spanish Lady. Mer. Here is a noble Lady, Madam, come, From your great Friends, at Court, to see your Ladiship: And have the Honour of your Acquaintance. Tay. Sir. She do's us Honour. Wit. Pray you, say to her Ladiship, It is the manner of Spain to imbrace only, Never to kiss. She will excuse the Custom! [Excuses himself for not kissing. Tay. Your use of it is Law. Please you sweet Madam, To take a Seat. Wit. Yes, Madam. I' have had The favour, through a World of fair report To know your Vertues, Madam; and in that Name, have desir'd the happiness of presenting My Service to your Ladiship! Tay. Your Love, Madam, I must not own it else. Wit. Both are due, Madam, To your great Undertakings. Tay. Great? In troth, Madam, They are my Friends, that think 'em any thing: If I can do my Sex (by 'em) any Service, I' have my ends, Madam. Wit. And they are noble ones, That make a Multitude beholden, Madam: The Commonwealth of Ladies, must acknowledge from you. Eit. Except some envious, Madam. Wit. Yo' are right in that, Madam, Of which Race, I encountred some but lately. Who ('t seems) have studyed Reasons to discredit Your Business. Tay. How, sweet Madam. Wit. Nay, the Parties Wi' not be worth your pause — Most ruinous things, Madam, That have put off all hope of being recover'd To a degree of handsomness. Tay. But their Reasons, Madam? I would fain hear. Wit. Some Madam, I remember. They say, that painting quite destroys the Face — Eit. O, that's an old one, Madam, Wit. There are new ones, too. Corrupts the Breath; hath left so little sweetness In kissing, as 'tis now us'd but for Fashion: And shortly will be taken for a Punishment. Decays the Fore-teeth that should guard the Tongue; And suffers that run Riot everlasting! And (which is worse) some Ladies when they meet Cannot be merry and laugh, but they do spit In one anothers Faces! Man. I should know This Voyce and Face too: [Manly begins to know him. Wit. Then, they say, 'tis dangerous To all the faln, yet well dispos'd Mad-dams, That are industrious, and desire to earn Their Living with their Sweat! For any Distemper Of heat and motion, may displace the Colours; And if the Paint once run about their Faces, Twenty to one, they will appear so ill-favour'd, Their Servants run away too, and leave the Pleasure Imperfect, and the Reckoning als' unpay'd. Eit. Pox, these are Poets Reasons. Tay. Some old Lady That keeps a Poet, has devis'd these Scandals. Eit. Faith we must have the Poets banish'd, Madam, As Master Either-side says. Mer. Master Fitz-Dottrel? And his Wife: where? Madam, the Duke of Drown'd-land, That will be shortly. Wit. Is this my Lord? Mer. The same.