Nur. Come hither, love, sweet chuck:
My lady calls.
Gio. What means this woman? sure, she loves me too,
Tailors shall speed, had they no tongues to woo:
Women would sue to them.
[Aside.]
Evad. What, have you done it now?
Gio. Madam, your gown by my industry
Is purg'd of errors.
Evad. Lord, what a neat methodical way you have
To vent your phrases; pray, when did you commence?
Gio. What mean you, madam?
Evad. Doctor, I mean; you speak so physical.
Nur. Nay, madam, 'tis a youth, I praise my stars
For their kind influence, a woman may be proud on,
And I am.
O, 'tis a youth in print, a new Adonis.
And I could wish, although my glass tells me
I'm wondrous fair, I were a Venus for him.
Gio. O lady, you are more fairer by far.