Mil. 'Tis well:
Where's Raymond, brother? Where's my dear Mounchensey?
Would we might weep together, and then part,
One[282] sighing parley would much ease my heart.
Fab. Sweet beauty, fold your sorrows in the thought
Of future reconcilement: let your tears
Show you a woman, but no[283] farther spent
Than from the eyes: for sweet experience says
That love is firm, that's flatter'd with delays.
Mil. Alas! sir, think you I shall e'er be his?
Fab. As sure as parting smiles on future bliss.
Yond comes my friend; see, he hath doated
So long upon your beauty, that your want
Will with a pale retirement waste his blood:
For in true love music doth sweetly dwell:
Sever'd, these less worlds bear within them hell.
Enter Mounchensey.
Moun. Harry and Frank, you are enjoined to wean
Your friendship from me: we must part; the breath
Of ill[284] advis'd corruption, pardon me.
Faith, I must say so; you may think I love you,
I breathe not rougher spite to sever us;
We'll meet by stealth, sweet friend, by stealth you twain;
Kisses are sweetest got by struggling pain.
Jer. Our friendship dies not, Raymond.
Moun. Pardon me:
I am busied; I have lost my faculties,
And buried them in Millicent's clear eyes.
Mil. Alas! sweet love, what shall become of me?
I must to Cheston to the nunnery,
I shall ne'er see thee more.
Moun. 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.