Jun. 'Tis sure the plague, for no man dare come near me
Without an Antidote: 'tis far worse; Hell.
Petill. Thou art damn'd without redemption then.
Jun. The way to't
Strew'd with fair Western smiles, and April blushes,
Led by the brightest constellations; eyes,
And sweet proportions, envying heaven: but from thence
No way to guide, no path, no wisdom bring us.
Petill. Yes, a smart water, Junius.
Jun. Do I fool?
Know all this, and fool still? Do I know further,
That when we have enjoy'd our ends, we lose 'em,
And all our appetites are but as dreams
We laugh at in our ages.
Petill. Sweet Philosopher!
Jun. Do I know on still, and yet know nothing? Mercy gods,
Why am I thus ridiculous?
Petill. Motley on thee,
Thou art an arrant Ass.
Jun. Can red and white,
An Eye, a Nose, a Cheek.
Petill. But one cheek, Junius?
An half-fac'd Mistriss?