Evant. I'le make ye well, there's no such Physick for ye
As your warm Mistris arms.
Val. Art thou so cunning?
Evant. I speak not by experience, 'pray ye mistake not;
But if you love me—
Val. I do love so dearly,
So much above the base bent of desire,
I know not how to answer thee.
Evant. To bed then,
There I shall better credit ye; fie my Lord,
Will ye put a maid to't, to teach ye what to do?
An innocent maid? Are ye so cold a Lover?
In truth you make me blush, 'tis midnight too,
And 'tis no stoln love, but authorised openly,
No sin we covet, pray let me undress ye,
You shall help me; prethee sweet Valerio;
Be not so sad, the King will be more mercifull.
Val. May not I love thy mind?
Evant. And I yours too,
'Tis a most noble one, adorn'd with vertue;
But if we love not one another really,
And put our bodies and our mind together,
And so make up the concord of affection,
Our love will prove but a blind superstition:
This is no school to argue in my Lord,
Nor have we time to talk away allow'd us,
Pray let's dispatch, if any one should come
And find us at this distance, what would they think?
Come, kiss me and to bed.
Val. That I dare do, and kiss again.
Evant. Spare not, they are your own Sir.
Val. But to injoy thee is to be luxurious;
Too sensuall in my love, and too ambitious;
O how I burn! to pluck thee from the stalk,
Where now thou grow'st a sweet bud and a beauteous,
And bear'st the prime and honour of the Garden,
Is but to violate thy spring, and spoil thee.