Evan. Your Grace speaks very feelingly,
I would not be a handsome wench in your way, Sir,
For a new Gown.
Fred. Thou art all handsomness,
Nature will be asham'd to frame another
Now thou art made, thou hast rob'd her of her cunning:
Each several part about thee is a beauty.
Sor. Do you hear this Sister?
Evan. Yes, unworthy Brother, but all this will not do.
Fred. But love Evanthe.
Thou shalt have more than words, wealth, ease, and honours,
My tender Wench.
Evan. Be tender of my credit,
And I shall love you, Sir, and I shall honour ye.
Fred. I love thee to enjoy thee, my Evantbe,
To give thee the content of love.
Evan. Hold, hold, Sir, ye are too fleet,
I have some business this way, your Grace can ne'r content.
Sor. You stubborn toy.
Evan. Good my Lord Bawd I thank ye.