I will be bold to hold the glass up to her,
To shew her ladyship where she hath err'd,
And how to tender satisfaction;

So you vouchsafe to prove but the day's venture. Host. What say you, sir? where are you, are

you within? [Strikes Lovel on the breast. Lov. Yes, I will wait upon her and the company.

Host. It is enough, queen Prudence; I will bring him:

And on this kiss.-[kisses her. Exit Prudence.] I long'd to kiss a queen.

Lov. There is no life on earth, but being in love!

There are no studies, no delights, no business,
No intercourse, or trade of sense, or soul,
But what is love! I was the laziest creature,
The most unprofitable sign of nothing,
The veriest drone, and slept away my life
Beyond the dormouse, till I was in love!
And now, I can outwake the nightingale,
Out-watch an usurer, and out-walk him too;
Stalk like a ghost, that haunted 'bout a treasure,
And all that phant'sied treasure, it is love.
Host. But is your name Love-ill, sir, or
Love-well?

I would know that.

Lov. I do not know't myself,

Whether it is; but it is love hath been
The hereditary passion of our house,
My gentle host, and, as I guess, my friend:
The truth is, I have loved this lady long,
And impotently," with desire enough,
But no success: for I have still forborne
To express it, in my person, to her.

5 And impotently,] i. e. madly, without the control of reason, &c.

Host. How then?

Lov. I have sent her toys, verses, and anagrams, Trials of wit, mere trifles she has commended, But knew not whence they came, nor could she guess.

Host. This was a pretty riddling way of wooing! Lov. I oft have been too in her company; And look'd upon her a whole day; admired her; Loved her, and did not tell her so; loved still, Look'd still, and loved; and loved, and look'd, and sigh'd:

But, as a man neglected, I came off,
And unregarded-

Host. Could you blame her, sir,

When you were silent, and not said a word? Lov. O but I loved the more; and she might read it

Best in my silence, had she been-

Host. As melancholic

As you are! Pray you, why would you stand mute, sir?

Lov. O, thereon hangs a history, mine host. Did you e'er know, or hear of the lord Beaufort, Who serv'd so bravely in France? I was his page, And ere he died, his friend: I follow'd him, First, in the wars, and, in the times of peace, I waited on his studies; which were right. He had no Arthurs, nor no Rosicleers, No knights o' the Sun, nor Amadis de Gauls, Primalions, Pantagruels, public nothings; Abortives of the fabulous dark cloyster, Sent out to poison courts and infest manners: But great Achilles, Agamemnon's acts, Sage Nestor's counsels, and Ulysses' slights, Tydides' fortitude, as Homer wrought them In his immortal phant'sy, for examples Of the heroic virtue. Or, as Virgil,

That master of the epic poem, limn'd
Pious Æneas, his religious prince,

Bearing his aged parent on his shoulders,
Rapt from the flames of Troy, with his young

son:

And these he brought to practice, and to use.
He gave me first my breeding, I acknowledge,
Then shower'd his bounties on me, like the
Hours,

That open-handed sit upon the clouds,
And press the liberality of heaven

Down to the laps of thankful men! But then
The trust committed to me at his death,
Was above all, and left so strong a tie
On all my powers, as time shall not dissolve,
Till it dissolve itself, and bury all!

The care of his brave heir, and only son:
Who being a virtuous, sweet, young, hopeful
lord,

Hath cast his first affections on this lady.
And though I know, and may presume her such,
As, out of humour, will return no love;
And therefore might indifferently be made
The courting-stock, for all to practise on,
As she doth practise on all us, to scorn:
Yet, out of a religion to my charge,

And debt profess'd, I have made a self-decree,
Ne'er to express my person, though my passion
Burn me to cinders.

Host. Then you are not so subtle

Or half so read in love-craft, as I took you;
Come, come, you are no phoenix; an you were,
I should expect no miracle from your ashes.
Take some advice. Be still that rag of love,
You are burn on till you turn tinder.
This chamber-maid may hap to prove the steel,
To strike a sparkle out of the flint, your mistress,

May beget bonfires yet; you do not know, What light may be forced out, and from what darkness.

Lov. Nay, I am so resolv'd, as still I'll love Though not confess it.

Host. That's, sir, as it chances;

We'll throw the dice for it: cheer up.

Lov. I do.

[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

A Room in the Inn.

Enter Lady FRAMPUL, and PRUDENCE pinning on her lady's gown.

Lady F. Come, wench, this suit will serve; dispatch, make ready:

It was a great deal with the biggest for me, Which made me leave it off after once wearing. How does it fit? will it come together?

Pru. Hardly.

Lady F. Thou must make shift with it; pride feels no pain.

Girt thee hard, Prue. Pox o' this errant tailor,
He angers me beyond all mark of patience!
These base mechanics never keep their word,
In any thing they promise.

Pru. 'Tis their trade, madam,

To swear and break; they all grow rich by breaking

More than their words; their honesties, and

credits,

Are still the first commodity they put off.

Lady F. And worst, it seems; which makes them do it so often.

If he had but broke with me, I had not cared, But with the company! the body politic!

Pru. Frustrate our whole design, having that time,

And the materials in, so long before!

Lady F. And he to fail in all, and disappoint us! The rogue deserves a torture

Pru. To be cropp'd

With his own scissars.

Lady F. Let's devise him one.

Pru. And have the stumps sear'd up with his own searing candle.

Lady F. Close to his head, to trundle on his pillow.

I'll have the lease of his house cut out in mea

sures.

Pru. And he be strangled with them.

Lady F. No, no life

I would have touch'd, but stretch'd on his own. yard

He should be a little, have the strappado-
Pru. Or an ell of taffata

Drawn through his guts, by way of glyster, and fired

With aqua vitæ.

Lady F. Burning in the hand

With the pressing-iron, cannot save him.
Pru. Yes,

Now I have got this on; I do forgive him,
What robes he should have brought.

Lady F. Thou art not cruel,

Although strait-laced, I see, Prue.

Pru. This is well.

Lady F. 'Tis rich enough, but 'tis not what I

meant thee.