Asc. Stand still, and wonder with me.
Queen. Cleantha! O, the prodigy! And how
Wilt thou endure his serious face? Can'st thou,
Whom nothing tempted but wit parcel-gilt
And the last fashion, suffer Oniate?
Cle. Madam, I undertake him for a penance:
Perhaps he was enjoin'd me.
Queen. It was Love
You went to shrift with then. And yet how that
Young wanton Idleness should counsel you
To this conversion, still is more my riddle.
Cle. The court is full of wonders, madam; and
'Tis handsome to do things extravagant.
Queen. But how, in th' heat of war, your thoughts should be
So apt for Love's impression?
Cle. Love will dance
As nimbly to the trumpet, fife, or drum,
As to those many violins which play
So loud at court. Moreover, it concern'd
My safety; I so straitly was besieg'd,
And by so strong a Cæsar.
Queen. O my lord!
I am informed with how fierce a spirit
You do assault our ladies.
San. Pray, your mercy!
And if your majesty will please to banish
The art of making love quite from the court,
I'll not be out of fashion.
Queen. For your sake
I will contrive it so: and, good my lord,
Will you begin th' example, you will see
How soon the fine young lords will follow you.—
Your pardon, sir; had I but seen your highness,
I had not lost so much of language from
A most expressive gratitude.