Sil. The joyes of Hell hang over me, oh mischief,
To what a fortune has the Devil driven me!
Am I reserv'd for this?
Sy. Beshrew me, Sir,
But you have gotten you a right fair bedfellow,
Let you alone to chuse.
Sil. I beseech your Grace,
'Tis misery enough to have met the Devil,
Not mens reproaches too.
Sy. How old is she?
Dutch. A very Girl, her eye delivers it.
Sy. Her teeth are scarce come yet.
Lord. What goodly children
Will they two have now! she is rarely made to breed on,
What a sweet timber'd body!
Dutch. Knotty i' th' back,
But will hold out the stronger; What a nose!
Sy. I marry, such a nose, so rarely mounted,
Upon my conscience, 'twas the part he doted on.
Dutch. And that fine little eye to it, like an Elephant's.