Ros. Avoid him; for he hath a dwindled leg,
A low forehead, and a thin coal-black beard; 130
And will be jealous too, believe it, sweet;
For his chin sweats, and hath a gander neck,
A thin lip, and a little monkish eye.
’Precious! what a slender waist he hath!
He looks like a may-pole,[64] or a notched stick;
He’ll snap in two at every little strain.
Give me a husband that will fill mine arms,
Of steady judgment, quick and nimble sense;
Fools relish not a lady’s excellence.
[Exeunt all on the lower stage; at which the cornets sound a flourish, and a peal of shot is given.
Mel. The triumph’s ended; but look, Rossaline! 140
What gloomy soul in strange accustrements[65]
Walks on the pavement?
Ros. Good sweet, let’s to her; prithee, Mellida.
Mel. How covetous thou art of novelties!
Ros. Pish! ’tis our nature to desire things
That are thought strangers to the common cut.
Mel. I am exceeding willing, but——
Ros. But what? prithee, go down; let’s see her face:
God send that neither wit nor beauty wants,
Those tempting sweets, affection’s adamants. 150
[Exeunt.