Mir. But hark ye, hark ye, Sir; is't possible
I may believe what you say?
Lev. You may chuse, Sir.
Mir. No Baits? No Fish-hooks, Sir? No Gins? No Nooses?
No Pitfals to catch Puppies?
Lev. I tell ye certain;
You may believe; if not, stand to the danger. [Exeunt.
Mir. A Lord of Savoy saies he? The Dukes Nephew?
A man so mighty? By 'Lady a fair marriage;
By my faith, a handsom fortune: I must leave prating;
For to confess the truth, I have abused her,
For which I should be sorry, but that will seem scurvy;
I must confess, she was ever since I knew her
As modest, as she was fair: I am sure she lov'd me;
Her means good; and her breeding excellent;
And for my sake she has refus'd fair matches:
I may play the fool finely. Stay who are these?
Enter De-Gard, Oriana, and Attendants.
'Tis she, I am sure; and that the Lord it should seem,
He carries a fair Port; is a handsom man too:
I do begin to feel, I am a Coxcomb.
Ori. Good my Lord, chuse a nobler: for I know
I am so far below your rank and honour,
That what ye can say this way, I must credit
But spoken to beget your self sport: Alas, Sir,
I am so far off from deserving you,
My beauty so unfit for your Affection,
That I am grown the scorn of common Railers,
Of such injurious things, that when they cannot
Reach at my person, lie with my reputation:
I am poor besides.
de-Ga. Ye are all wealth and goodness;
And none but such as are the scum of men,
The Ulcers of an honest state; Spight-weavers,
That live on poyson only, like swoln spiders,
Dare once profane such excellence, such sweetness.