Luc. And do you think it well done?
Mir. That's as she'll think when 'tis done; come to bed wench,
For thou art so pretty, and so witty a companion,
We must not part to night.
Luc. Faith let me go Sir,
And think better on't.
Mir. Yfaith thou shalt not;
I warrant thee I'll think on't.
Luc. I have heard 'em say here,
You are a Maid too.
Mir. I am sure I am, wench,
If that will please thee.
Luc. I have seen a wonder,
And would you loose that for a little wantonness,
(Consider my sweet Master, like a man, now,)
For a few honied kisses, sleight embraces,
That glory of your youth that crown of sweetness?
Can ye deliver that unvalued treasure?
Would ye forsake, to seek your own dishonor,
What gone, no age recovers, nor repentance,
To a poor stranger?
Col. Hold there again, thou art perfect.
Luc. I know you do but try me.
Mir. And I know
I'll try you a great deal farther: prethee to bed;
I love thee, and so well: come kiss me once more;
Is a maiden-head ill bestow'd o'me?