Leon. Have you done with him?
Bach. Done with? O good gods what frailties thus pass by us without reverence!
Leon. I see no such perfection.
Bac. O dear Sir: you are a father, and those joys
To you, speak in your heart, not in your tongue.
Leo. This leaves a tast behind it worse than physick.
Bac[h]. Then for all his wisdome, valour,
Good fortune, and all those friends of honor,
They are in him as free and natural, as passions
In a Woman.
Leon. You make me blush at all these years
To see how blindly you have flung your praises
Upon a Boy, a very child, and worthless,
Whilst I live, of these Honors.
Bac. I would not have my love Sir, make my tongue
Shew me so much a woman: as to praise
Or dispraise, where my will is, without reason,
Or generall allowance of the people.
Leon. Allowance of the people, what allow they?