Bout. Within my power your beauty shall command.
What courtesy is't?
Taf. To stoop, and take up
My handkerchief.
Bout. Your desire is performed.
Taf. Sir, most hearty thanks: please you come in,
Your welcome shall transcend your expectation.
Bout. I accept your courtesy: ha! what's this?
Assailed by fear and hope in a moment:
Boutcher, this womanish passion fits not men,
Who know the worth of freedom: shall smiles and eyes
With their lascivious glances conquer him,
Hath still been lord of his affections?
Shall simp'ring niceness, loadstones but to fools,
Attract a knowing spirit! it shall, it does.
Not Phœbus, rising from Aurora's lap,
Spreads his bright rays with more majestic grace
Than came the glances from her quick'ning eye.
And what of this?
Con. By my troth, I know not.
Bout. I will not enter: continued flames burn strong.
I yet am free, and reason keeps her seat
Above all fond affections—yet is she fair.
Enter Adriana [from above].
Adri. Sir, I bring you thanks for this great courtesy:
And if you please to enter, I dare presume
My mistress will afford you gracious welcome.
Bout. How do men call your mistress?