Alb. Sweet, a paradise,
A paradise inhabited with Angels,
Such as you are: their pitties make 'm Angels,
They gave me these viands, and supply'd me
With these pretious drinks.
Amin. Shall not we see 'em?
Alb. Yes, they will see you
Out of their charities, having heard our story,
They will come, and comfort us, come presently;
We shall no more know wants nor miseries.
Amin. Are they all women?
Alb. All, and all in love with us.
Amin. How!
Alb. Do not mistake: in love with our misfortunes,
They will cherish and relieve our men.
Tib. Do you shrug now,
And pull up your noses? you smell comfort,
See they stretch out their Legs like Dottrels,
Each like a new Saint Dennis.
Alb. Dear Mistris,
When you would name me, and the women hear,
Call me your brother, you I'll call my sister,
And pray observe this all—
Why do you change color sweet.
Amin. Eating too much meat.