Alb. Sawc't with jealousie;
Fie, fie, dear saint, yfaith ye are too blame,
Are ye not here? here fixt in my heart?
All. Hark, hark;
Enter Rosella, Clarinda, Crocale, Hipollitta, Juletta.
Alb. They are come, stand ready, and look nobly,
And with all humble reverence receive 'em,
Our lives depend upon their gentle pitties,
And death waits on their anger.
Mor. Sure they are Fairies.
Tib. Be they Devils: Devils of flesh and blood;
After so long a Lent, and tedious voyage,
To me they are Angels.
Fran. O for some Eringoes!
Lam. Potatoes, or Cantharides.
Tib. Peace you Rogues, that buy abilities of your 'pothecaries,
Had I but took the diet of green Cheese,
And Onions for a month, I could do wonders.
Ros. Are these the Jewels you run mad for?
What can you see in one of these,
To whom you would vouchsafe a gentle touch?
Can nothing perswade you
To love your selves, and place your happiness
In cold and chast embraces of each other.