Cla. Know, and pity Lady,
Such sweetness in the bud, should be so blasted;
Dare you make me your Servant?
Isab. Dare you make Sir,
That service worthy of a womans favour
By constancy and goodness?
Cla. Here I swear to ye,
By the unvalued love I bear this beauty,
(And kiss the Book too) never to be recreant,
To honour ye, to truly love, and serve ye,
My youth to wait upon ye, what my wealth has.
Isab. Oh make me not so poor to sell affection,
Those bought loves Sir, wear faster than the moneys;
A handsome Gentleman.
Cla. A most delicate sweet one,
Let my truth purchase then.
Isab. I should first try it,
But you may happily.—
Cla. You shall not doubt me,
I hope she loves me; when I prove false, shame take me;
Will ye believe a little?
Isab. I fear, too much, Sir.
Cla. And will ye love a little?
Isab. That should be your part: