Alb. Here's to our loves.
How, turn and weep!
Pray pledge it: this happiness we have yet left,
Our hearts are free. Not pledge it? Why?
And though beneath the Axe this health were holy,
Why do ye weep thus?
Amin. I come to woo ye.
Alb. To woo me Sweet? I am woo'd and won already,
You know I am yours. This pretty way becomes ye.
But you would deceive my sorrows; that's your intent.
Amin. I would I could, I should not weep, but smile.
Do ye like your Meat and Wine?
Alb. Like it?
Amin. Do you like your liberty?
Alb. All these I well may like.
Amin. Then pray like her that sent 'em.
Do ye like wealth, and most unequal'd beauty?
Alb. Peace, indeed you'l make me angry.
Amin. Would I were dead that ask it,
Then ye might freely like, and I forgive ye.