Clod. Go and believe, a good belief does well Sir; And you Sir, clear the place, but leave her here.
Arn. Your Lordships pleasure.
Clod. That anon Arnoldo, This is but talk.
Rut. Shall we goe off?
Arn. By any means,
I know she has pious thoughts enough to guard her:
Besides, here's nothing due to him till the tye be done,
Nor dare he offer.
Rut. Now do I long to worry him: Pray have a care to the main chance.
Zen. Pray Sir, fear not. [Exit Ar. and Rut.
Clod. Now, what say you to me?
Zen. Sir it becomes The modestie, that maids are ever born with, To use few words.
Clod. Do you see nothing in me?
Nothing to catch your eyes, nothing of wonder
The common mould of men, come short, and want in?
Do you read no future fortune for your self here?
And what a happiness it may be to you,
To have him honour you, all women aim at?
To have him love you Lady, that man love you,
The best, and the most beauteous have run mad for?
Look and be wise, you have a favour offer'd you
I do not every day propound to women;
You are a prettie one; and though each hour
I am glutted with the sacrifice of beautie,
I may be brought, as you may handle it,
To cast so good a grace and liking on you.
You understand, come kiss me, and be joyfull,
I give you leave.