The playhouse is a kind of market-place;
One chaffers for a voice, another for a face;
Nay, some of you,—I dare not say how many,—
Would buy of me a pen'worth for your penny.
}
E'en this poor face, which with my fan I hide, }
Would make a shift my portion to provide, }
With some small perquisites I have beside. }
Though for your love, perhaps, I should not care,
I could not hate a man that bids me fair.