Char. Why not to yours, dear Mistris? one heart and one bed.
Ang. True, Sir, when 'tis lawful: but yet you know—
Char. I would not know, forget it; those are but sickly loves that hang on Ceremonies, nurs'd up with doubts and fears; ours high and healthful, full of belief, and fit to teach the Priest: Love shall seal first, then hands confirm the bargain.
Ang. I shall be a Heretick if this continue. What would you do a bed? you make me blush, Sir.
Char. I'd see you sleep, for sure your sleeps are excellent, you that are waking such a noted wonder, must in your slumber prove an admiration. I would behold your dreams too, if't were possible; those were rich showes.
Ang. I am becoming Traitor.
Char. Then like blew Neptune courting of an Island, where all the perfumes and the precious things that wait upon great Nature are laid up, I'd clip it in my arms, and chastly kiss it, dwell in your bosome like your dearest thoughts, and sigh and weep.
Ang. I've too much woman in me.
Char. And those true tears falling on your pure Crystals, should turn to armelets for great Queens t'adore.
Ang. I must be gone.