Luis. Your hand, fair Serafina, whose bright eyes
Seem to have drawn his lustre from the sun,
To fill my house withal;—a poor receptacle
Of such a visitor.
Por. Nay, ’tis for me
To blush for that, in quality of hostess;
Yet, though you come to shame my house-keeping,
Thrice welcome, Serafina.
Serafina. How answer both,
Being too poor in compliment for either!