There goes the physician, the waiting-maid,
And a fine, straight-legg'd gentleman-usher.
The preface to a kirtle all puff-paste;
One that writes sonnets in his lady's praise,
And hides her crimes with flattering poesy.
Enter Mariana.
But peace! amazement! see the day of life,
Nature's best work, the world's chief paragon!
Madam, one word.
Mar. Ay; so now, farewell.
Phil. You do mistake me.
Mar. That yourself can tell.
You ask'd me one word, which I gave, said ay;
A word of least use in a virgin's breath,[171]
Urge not my patience then with fond reply.
Phil. Dear lady, lend an ear unto my voice,
Since each were made for other's happiness:
My tongue's not oil'd with courtly flatterings,
Nor can I paint my passions to the life;
But by that power which shap'd this heavenly form,
I am your bondslave forc'd by love's command;
Then let soft pity with such beauty dwell,
Madam, I love you.
Mar. As I am a virgin, so do I.
Phil. But, madam, whom?
Mar. Myself no lady better.