Pray thee stand up; 'Tis true, she is too fair,
And all these commendations but her own,
Would thou had'st never so commended her,
Or I nere liv'd to have heard it Gobrias;
If thou but know'st the wrong her beautie does her,
Thou wouldst in pity of her be a lyar,
Thy ignorance has drawn me wretched man,
Whither my self nor thou canst well tell: O my fate!
I think she loves me, but I fear another
Is deeper in her heart: How thinkst thou Gobrias?
Gob.
I do beseech your Grace believe it not,
For let me perish if it be not false. Good Sir, read her Letter.
Mar.
This Love, or what a devil it is I know not, begets more mischief than a Wake. I had rather be well beaten, starv'd, or lowsie, than live within the Air on't. He that had seen this brave fellow Charge through a grove of Pikes but t'other day, and look upon him now, will ne'r believe his eyes again: if he continue thus but two days more, a Taylor may beat him with one hand tied behind him.
Arb.
Alas, she would be at liberty.
And there be a thousand reasons Gobrias,
Thousands that will deny't:
Which if she knew, she would contentedly
Be where she is: and bless her vertues for it,
And me, though she were closer, she would, Gobrias,
Good man indeed she would.
Gob.
Then good Sir, for her satisfaction,
Send for her and with reason make her know
Why she must live thus from you.
Arb.