Flo. My Lord, I know your noble love to me
And do so highly your deserts esteeme
That I will never yeeld to such a match.
Choose you a beautious dame of high degree
And leave Cornelia to my fate and mee.
Cass. Ah, Flores, Flores, were not I assured
Both of thy noblenesse, thy birth and merite,
Yet my affection vow'd with friendships toong,
In spite of all base changes of the world
That tread on noblest head once stoopt by fortune
Should love and grace thee to my utmost power.
Cornelia is my wife: what sayes my love?
Cannot thy father's friend entreat so much.
Cor. My humble minde can nere presume To dreame in such high grace to my lowe seate.
Cass. My graces are not ordered in my words. Come love, come friend; for friendship now and love Shall both be joynde in one eternall league.
Flo. O me, yet happy in so true a friend.
[Exeunt.
Doct. Est possible, by garr? de foole Earle drinke my powder, I tinke. Mershan tella mee.
Mar. What, maister Doctor Doddie?
Doct. Hab you de blew and de yellow Velvet, ha?
Mar. What of that, sir?