San. Take your way.
Song (without).
Fine young folly, though you were
That fair beauty I did swear,
Yet you ne'er could reach my heart;
For we courtiers learn at school
Only with your sex to fool;
Y'are not worth the serious part.
When I sigh and kiss your hand,
Cross my arms, and wond'ring stand,
Holding parley with your eye:
Then dilate on my desires,
Swear the sun ne'er shot such fires;
All is but a handsome lie.
When I eye your curl or lace,
Gentle soul, you think your face
Straight some murder doth commit;
And your virtue doth begin
To grow scrupulous of my sin,
When I talk to show my wit.
Therefore, madam, wear no cloud,
Nor to check my love grow proud;
In sooth I much do doubt,
'Tis the powder in your hair,
Not your breath, perfumes the air,
And your clothes that set you out.
Yet though truth has this confess'd,
And I vow I love in jest:
When I next begin to court,
And protest an amorous flame,
You will swear I in earnest am:
Bedlam! this is pretty sport.
As the song ends, enter Cleantha veiled.
She breaks forth like the morning in a cloud.
'Tis for the safety of my eyes you veil
The glory of your beauties, which else might
Dazzle, not catch the sight; but I discern
A fair Cleantha through this gloominess.
Appear and speak, bright madam. Why such silence?
O, famish not my ear, which greedily
Longs to devour the music of your language:
Is it to teach me that delight must be
Entomb'd in secrecy, or else to show
How mad a spendthrift I'm to talk away
The treasure of this hour? Come, fair, unveil.