Tim. And lips too, lady.
Aur. Sir, you much honour both.
Tim. I know that,
Else I'd not kiss you. Yesterday I was
In company with ladies, and they all
Long'd to be touch'd by me.
Aur. You cannot cure
The evil, sir; nor have your lips the virtue
To restore ruins, or make old ladies young?
Tim. Faith, all the virtue that they have is, that
My lips are knighted. I am born, sweet lady,
To a poor fortune, that will keep myself
And footman, as you see, to bear my sword
In cuerpo[245] after me. I can at court,
If I would, show my gilt[246] i' th' presence; look
After the rate of some five thousands
Yearly in old rents; and, were my father once
Well wrapp'd in sear-cloth, I could fine for sheriff.
Plot. Heart! you spoil all. [Aside.
Tim. Why?
Plot. She verily believ'd y' had ne'er a father. [Aside.
Aur. Lives your father then, sir?
That gentleman told me he was dead.
Tim. 'Tis true,
I had forgot myself: he was drowned, lady,
This morning, as he went to take possession
Of a summer-house and land in the Canaries.