Kin. Thou darst not Wat: let to night be to morrow.
Ter. For shee’s not yet mine owne.
Ter. My Lord I dare, but——
King. But I see thou darst not.
Ter. This night.
King. Yea, this night, tush thy minde repaires not,
The more thou talk’st of night, the more thou darst not;
Thus farre I tend, I wod but turne this spheare,
Of Ladies eyes, and place it in the Court,
Where thy faire Bride should for the Zodiacke shine,
And euery Lady else sit for a signe.
But all thy thoughts are yellow, thy sweet bloud
Rebels, th’art iealous Wat; thus with proude reuels
To emmulate the masking firmament,
Where Starres dance in the siluer Hall of heauen,
Thy pleasure should be seasoned, and thy bed
Relish thy Bride, But, but thou darst not Wat.
Ter. My Loord I dare.
Kin. Speake that agen.
Ter. I dare.