Val. It cannot be, that so much beauty, so much youth and grace should have too much of love.
Vio. Pray what is love? for I am full of that I do not know.
Val. Why, love fair Maid is an extream desire,
That's not to be examin'd, but fulfill'd,
To ask the reason why thou art in love,
Or what might be the noblest end in love,
Would overthrow that kindly rising warmth,
That many times slides gently o'r the heart,
'Twould make thee grave and staid, thy thoughts would be,
Like a thrice married Widow, full of ends,
And void of all compassion, and to fright thee
From such enquiry, whereas thou art now
Living in ignorance, mild, fresh, and sweet,
And but sixteen; the knowing what love is,
Would make thee six and forty.
Vio. Would it would make me nothing, I have heard
Scholars affirm, the [world's] upheld by Love,
But I believe, women maintain all this,
For there's no love in men.
Val. Yes, in some men.
Vio. I know them not.
Val. Why, there is love in me.
Vio. There's charity I am sure towards me.
Val. And love; which I will now express, my pretty maid,
I dare not bring thee home, my wife is foul,
And therefore envious, she is very old,
And therefore jealous: thou art fair and young.
A subject fit for her unlucky vices
No work upon, she never will endure thee.
Via. She may endure
If she be ought, but Devil, all the friendship
That I will hold with you; can she endure
I should be thankful to you? may I pray
For you and her, will she be brought to think.
That all the honest industry I have,
Deserves brown bread? if this may be endur'd
She'll pick a quarrel with a sleeping child,
E'r she fall out with me.
Val. But trust me, she does hate all handsomness.
Vio. How fell you in love with such a creature?