Flo. Yet 'twas his own.
Cle. How ill turn'd up his beard;
And for his clothes——
Flo. Though not fresh every morning,
Yet in the fashion.
Cle. Yes, i' th' sober fashion,
Which courtiers wear who hope to be employ'd,
And aim at business. But he's not genteel;
Not discomposed enough to court a lady.
Flo. His thoughts are much more serious.
Cle. Guard me, Fortune!
I would not have the court take notice that
I walked one hour with that state-aphorism
Each autumn to renew my youth. Let us
Discourse with lords, whose heads and legs move more
Than do their tongues, and to as good a sense;
Who, snatching from my hand a glove, can sigh,
And print a kiss, and then return it back;
Who on my busk,[273] even with a pin, can write
The anagram of my name, present it humbly,
Fall back, and smile.
Flo. Cleantha, I perceive
There is small hope of thy conversion;
Thou art resolv'd to live in this heresy.
Cle. Yes; since 'tis the religion of our sex:
Sweet Floriana, I will not yet suffer
For unregarded truth court persecution.
Enter Ossuna and Oniate, with divers Soldiers.
But what are they appear there?