Mrs. Fi. Sir, if you iudge me by this ſimple action, And by the outward habite, and complexion 50 Of eaſineſſe, it hath, to your deſigne; You may with Iuſtice, ſay, I am a woman: And a ſtrange woman. But when you ſhall pleaſe, To bring but that concurrence of my fortune, To memory, which to day your ſelfe did vrge: 55 It may beget ſome fauour like excuſe, Though none like reaſon.
Wit. No, my tune-full Miſtreſſe? Then, ſurely, Loue hath none: nor Beauty any; Nor Nature violenced, in both theſe: With all whoſe gentle tongues you ſpeake, at once. 60 I thought I had inough remou’d, already, That ſcruple from your breſt, and left yo’ all reaſon; When, through my mornings perſpectiue I ſhewd you A man ſo aboue excuſe, as he is the cauſe, Why any thing is to be done vpon him: 65 And nothing call’d an iniury, miſ-plac’d. I’rather, now had hope, to ſhew you how Loue By his acceſſes, growes more naturall: And, what was done, this morning, with ſuch force Was but deuis’d to ſerue the preſent, then. 70 That ſince Loue hath the honour to approach He grows more familiar in his Court-ſhip. Theſe ſiſter-ſwelling breſts; and touch this ſoft, And roſie hand; hee hath the skill to draw Their Nectar forth, with kiſſing; and could make More wanton ſalts, from this braue promontory, 75 Downe to this valley, then the nimble Roe; playes with her paps, kiſſeth her hands, &c. Could play the hopping Sparrow, ’bout theſe nets; And ſporting Squirell in theſe criſped groues; Bury himſelfe in euery Silke-wormes kell, Is here vnrauell’d; runne into the ſnare, 80 Which euery hayre is, caſt into a curle, To catch a Cupid flying: Bath himselfe In milke, and roſes, here, and dry him, there; Warme his cold hands, to play with this ſmooth, round, [124] And well torn’d chin, as with the Billyard ball; 85 Rowle on theſe lips, the banks of loue, and there At once both plant, and gather kiſſes. Lady, Shall I, with what I haue made to day here, call All ſenſe to wonder, and all faith to ſigne The myſteries reuealed in your forme? 90 And will Loue pardon mee the blasphemy I vtter’d, when I ſaid, a glaſſe could ſpeake This beauty, or that fooles had power to iudge it?
Doe but looke, on her eyes! They doe light— All that Loue’s world comprizeth! 95 Doe but looke on her hayre! it is bright, As Loue’s ſtarre, when it riſeth! Doe but marke, her fore-head’s ſmoother, Then words that ſooth her! And from her arched browes, ſuch a grace 100 Sheds it ſelfe through the face; As alone, there triumphs to the life, All the gaine, all the good, of the elements ſtrife!
Haue you ſeene but a bright Lilly grow, Before rude hands haue touch’d it? 105 Haue you mark’d but the fall of the Snow, Before the ſoyle hath ſmuch’d it? Haue you felt the wooll o’ the Beuer? Or Swans downe, euer? Or, haue ſmelt o’ the bud o’ the Bryer? 110 Or the Nard i’ the fire? Or, haue taſted the bag o’ the Bee? O, ſo white! O, ſo ſoft! O, ſo ſweet is ſhee!
[378] SD. Act. ...] om. Scene II. Manly’s Chambers in Lincoln’s Inn, opposite Fitzdottrel’s House. Enter Wittipol and Manly. G
[379] 12 SN.] [Gives him the copy of a song. G
[380] 15 Mrs. Fitzdottrel appears at a window of her house fronting that of Manly’s Chambers. G
[381] 21 worst W || SN. enters] enters and 1716, W || Manly ...] Manly sings. Enter Pug behind. G