MILLISCENT.
Alas, sir, think you I shall ere be his?
FABELL.
As sure as parting smiles on future bliss.
Yond comes my friend: see, he hath doted
So long upon your beauty, that your want
Will with a pale retirement waste his blood;
For in true love Musicke doth sweetly dwell:
Severed, these less worlds bear within them hell.
[Enter Mounchensey.]
MOUNCHENSEY.
Harry and Francke, you are enjoined to wain
Your friendship from me; we must part: the breath
Of all advised corruption—pardon me!
Faith, I must say so;—you may think I love you;
I breath not, rougher spight do sever us;
We'll meet by stealth, sweet friend,—by stealth, you twain;
Kisses are sweetest got with struggling pain.
JERNINGHAM.
Our friendship dies not, Raymond.
MOUNCHENSEY.
Pardon me:
I am busied; I have lost my faculties,
And buried them in Milliscent's clear eyes.
MILLISCENT.
Alas, sweet Love, what shall become of me?
I must to Chesson to the Nunry,
I shall ne'er see thee more.
MOUNCHENSEY.
How, sweet?
I'll be thy votary, we'll often meet:
This kiss divides us, and breathes soft adieu,—
This be a double charm to keep both true.
FABELL.
Have done: your fathers may chance spy your parting.
Refuse not you by any means, good sweetness,
To go unto the Nunnery; far from hence
Must we beget your love's sweet happiness.
You shall not stay there long; your harder bed
Shall be more soft when Nun and maid are dead.
[Enter Bilbo.]