Cla. Ev'n what you will, but tread me.
Say. Shall we bill?
Cla. Oh no, forsooth.
Say. Being so fair, my Clara,
Why d'ye delight in Black-work?
Cla. Oh White Sir,
The fairest Ladies like the blackest men:
I ever lov'd the colour: all black things
Are least subject to change.
Say. Why, I do love
A black thing too: and the most beauteous faces
Have oftnest of them: as the blackest eyes,
Jet-arched brows, such hair: I'll kiss your hand.
Cla. 'Twill hinder me my work Sir: and my Mother
Will chide me, if I do not do my taske.
Say. Your Mother, nor your Father shall chide: you
Might have a prettier taske, would you be rul'd,
And look with open eyes.
Cla. I stare upon you:
And broadly see you, a wondrous proper man,
Yet 'twere a greater taske for me to love you
Than I shall ever work Sir, in seven year,
—O' this stitching, I had rather feel
Two, than sow one:—this rogue h' as given me a stitch good faith sir: I shall prick you.
Clean cross my heart:
Say. In gooder faith, I would prick you againe.