Ger. We shall not fail, Sir. [Exit.
Otr. Florimel.
Enter Florimell.
Flo. My Lord.
Otr. I am sure you have now consider'd
And like a wise wench weigh'd a friends displeasure,
Repented your proud thoughts, and cast your scorn off.
Flo. My Lord, I am not proud, I was never beautiful.
Nor scorn I any thing that's just and honest.
Otr. Come, to be short, can ye love yet? you told me
Kindness would far compell ye: I am kind to ye,
And mean to exceed that way.
Flo. I told ye too, Sir,
As far as it agreed with modesty,
With honour, and with honesty I would yield to ye:
Good my Lord: take some other Theam: for Love,
Alass, I never knew yet what it meant,
And on the sudden Sir, to run through Volumes
Of his most mystick art, 'tis most impossible;
Nay, to begin with lust, which is an Heresie,
A foul one too; to learn that in my childhood:
O good my Lord.
Otr. You will not out of this song,
Your modesty, and honesty, is that all?
I will not force ye.
Flo. Ye are too noble, Sir.