San. I thank your favour, madam. [Exit Sanmartino.
Cle. It is not so much worth, sir. Come, we'll follow.
Flo. But stay, Cleantha. Prythee, what begot
That squeamish look, that scornful wry o' the mouth,
When Oniate parted?
Cle. Why, thou hadst
So strange a fellow in thy company,
His garb was so uncourtly, I grew sick.
Flo. He is a gentleman; and, add to that,
Makes good the title.
Cle. Haply he may so,
And haply he's enamour'd on thy beauty.
Flo. On mine, Cleantha?
Cle. Yes, dear Floriana;
Yet neither danger to thy chastity,
Nor blemish to thy fame: custom approves it.
But I owe little to my memory,
If I e'er saw him 'mong the greater ladies:
Sure, he's some suburb-courtier.
Flo. He's noble,
And hath a soul—a thing is question'd much
In most of the gay youths whom you converse with.
Cle. But how disorderly his hair did hang.