Or. You have a flattering face, but 'tis a fine one;
I warrant you may have a hundred Sweet-hearts;
Will ye pray for me? I shall dye to morrow,
And will ye ring the Bells?
Mir. I am most unworthy,
I do confess, unhappy; do you know me?
Mir. Oh fair tears, how ye take me!
Ori. Do you weep too? you have not lost your Lover;
You mock me; I'l go home, and pray.
Mir. 'Pray ye pardon me:
Or if it please ye to consider justly,
Scorn me, for I deserve it: Scorn, and shame me:
Sweet Oriana.
Lil. Let her alone, she trembles;
Her fits will grow more strong if ye provoke her.
La Cas. Certain she knows ye not, yet loves to see ye:
How she smiles now!
[Enter Belleur.]
Bel. Where are ye? Oh, why do [not] you laugh? come, laugh at me;
What a Devil! art thou sad, and such a subject,
Such a ridiculous subject as I am
Before thy face?