Where are those eyes, those cardmatches of love,
That light up all with love my waxen soul?[132]
Where is that face which artful nature made
In the same moulds where Venus' self was cast?[133]
Hunc. Oh! what is music to the ear that's deaf,[134]
Or a goose-pie to him that has no taste?
What are these praises now to me, since I
Am promised to another?
Thumb. Ha! promised?