A subject for taxation.

_Gan_. Anywhere.
Come, a must not love you.

_Gab_. Heavens forbydd!
And I must tell you, brother, that I darre
(And with no other then a syster's spleene)
Justifye myne affectyon.

_Gan_. So,
And what wants thys of impudence?

_Gab_. As much
As you of charytie if your tonge bee
A faithfull servant to your mynde.

_Gan_. Tys well:
You would be whored (mayd), would you not?

_Ric_. Pray, Forbeare.

_Gab_. Your reprehensyon is unmannerlye,
While Ile enduer no longer. Fayre Sir, knowe
I will not have my true love circomscrybd
Within the lymits of your pollycie,
Come, y'are wicked.

_Gan_. Repentance would doe well.