Du. I, much is the force of heauen-bred Poesie
Pro. Say that vpon the altar of her beauty
You sacrifice your teares, your sighes, your heart:
Write till your inke be dry: and with your teares
Moist it againe: and frame some feeling line,
That may discouer such integrity:
For Orpheus Lute, was strung with Poets sinewes,
Whose golden touch could soften steele and stones;
Make Tygers tame, and huge Leuiathans
Forsake vnsounded deepes, to dance on Sands.
After your dire-lamenting Elegies,
Visit by night your Ladies chamber-window
With some sweet Consort; To their Instruments
Tune a deploring dumpe: the nights dead silence
Will well become such sweet complaining grieuance:
This, or else nothing, will inherit her
Du. This discipline, showes thou hast bin in loue
Th. And thy aduice, this night, ile put in practise:
Therefore, sweet Protheus, my direction-giuer,
Let vs into the City presently
To sort some Gentlemen, well skil'd in Musicke.
I haue a Sonnet, that will serue the turne
To giue the on-set to thy good aduise
Du. About it Gentlemen
Pro. We'll wait vpon your Grace, till after Supper,
And afterward determine our proceedings
Du. Euen now about it, I will pardon you.
Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scoena Prima.
Enter Valentine, Speed, and certaine Out-lawes.