Wife. He's but a Gentleman o'th' chamber; he might have kist me:
Faith, where shall one find less courtesie, than at Court?
Say I have an undeserver to my Husband:
That's ne'er the worse for him: well strange lip'd men,
'Tis but a kiss lost, there'll more come agen. [Exit.
Enter the passionate Lord, the Dukes kinsman, makes a congie or two to nothing.
1 Gent. Look, who comes here Sir, his love-fit's upon him:
I know it, by that sett smile, and those congies.
How courteous he's to nothing! which indeed,
Is the next kin to woman; only shadow
The elder Sister of the twain, because 'tis seen too.
See how it kisses the fore-finger still;
Which is the last edition, and being come
So near the thumb, every Cobler has got it.
Sham. What a ridiculous piece, humanity
Here makes it self!
1 Gent. Nay good give leave a little, Sir,
Y'are so precise a manhood—
Sham. It afflicts me
When I behold unseemliness in an Image
So near the Godhead, 'tis an injury
To glorious Eternity.
1 Gent. Pray use patience, Sir.
Pas. I do confess it freely, precious Lady,
And loves suit is so, the longer it hangs
The worse it is; better cut off, sweet Madam;
Oh, that same drawing in your neather Lip there,
Fore-shews no goodness, Lady; make you question on't?
Shame on me, but I love you.
1 Gent. Who is't Sir,
You are at all this pains for? may I know her?
Pas. For thee thou fairest, yet the falsest woman,
That ever broke man's heart-strings.