LANCELOT.
O, about my daughters? well, I will go forward.
Here's two of them, God save them: but the third,
O she's a stranger in her course of life.
She hath refused you, Master Weathercock.

WEATHERCOCK.
Aye, by the Rood, Sir Lancelot, that she hath,
But had she tried me,
She should a found a man of me indeed.

LANCELOT.
Nay be not angry, sir, at her denial.
She hath refused seven of the worshipfulest
And worthiest housekeepers this day in Kent:
Indeed she will not marry, I suppose.

WEATHERCOCK.
The more fool she.

LANCELOT.
What, is it folly to love Chastity?

WEATHERCOCK.
No, mistake me not, Sir Lancelot,
But tis an old proverb, and you know it well,
That women dying maids lead apes in hell.

LANCELOT.
That's a foolish proverb, and a false.