Fath. Here is a Ring, Sir, of no little value;
Which after she had seen you at a window,
She bad me haste, and give it, when she blush'd
Like a blown Rose.
Lod. But pray, Sir, by your leave—Methinks
your years should promise no ill meaning.
Fath. I am no Bawd, nor Cheater, nor a Courser
Of broken-winded women; if you fear me,
I'll take my leave, and let my Lady use
A fellow of more form; an honester
I am sure she cannot.
Lod. Stay, you have confirm'd me,
Yet let me feel; you are in health?
Fath. I hope so,
My water's well enough, and my pulse.
Lod. Then
All may be excellent; pray pardon me,
For I am like a Boy that had found money,
Afraid I dream still.
Pis. Sir, what kind of woman?
Of what proportion is your Lady?
Lod. I.
Fath. I'll tell you presently her very Picture,
Do you know a woman in this town they call
(Stay, yes, it is so) Leila?
Piso. Not by sight.