Bren. [Touching his lips] Your rubies [pointing to his eyes], your diamonds [grinning to show teeth], your pearls.
Tich. You may sing that song when diamonds wink tears, rubies pucker for kisses, and pearls bite figs i' the morning.
Bren. Well, I've a better one. [Sings]
Her voice is like the birds that wive
When blossoms swing in April trees,
And from her bosom's honey hive
Sighs come and go like bees.
Her smile——
Meth. Nay, I'm no farm-house sweet for loutish Corydon! How would you sing me, master Tichus, were I in Athens where every maid is fair?
Tich. With more truth and less boast.