Jac. What a dyn it makes!
I had rather hear a Jews trump than these Lutes,
They cry like School-boys.
Fabr. Prethee Jacomo.
Jac. Well I will hear, or sleep, I care not whether.
THE SONG.
Enter at the Window Frank, and Clora.
1. Tell me dearest what is Love?
2. 'Tis a lightning from above,
'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,
'Tis a boy they call Desire.
Both. 'Tis a grave,
Gapes to have
Those poor fools that long to prove.
1. Tell me more, are Women true?
2. Yes, some are, and some as you.
Some are willing, some are strange,
Since you men first taught to change.