Luc. It must be
A very hard thing Sir, and from my power,
I shall deny your goodness.
Mir. 'Tis a good wench; I must lye with ye Lady.
Luc. 'Tis something strange:
For yet in all my life I knew no bedfellow.
Mir. You will quickly find that knowledge.
Luc. To what end Sir?
Mir. Art thou so innocent, thou canst not guess at it?
Did thy dreams never direct thee?
Luc. 'Faith none yet Sir.
Mir. I'll tell thee then: I would meet thy youth, and pleasure;
Give thee my youth for that, by heaven she fires me,
And teach thy fair white arms, like wanton Ivies
A thousand new embraces.
Luc. Is that all Sir?
And say I should try, may we not lie quietly?
Upon my conscience I could.
Mir. That's as we make it.