CLERIMONT

Yes, and the fair one too, She needs no gloss that fortune can set on her, Her beauty of it self were prize enough To make a king turn beggar for. I know not, but I slept well enough last night, But if thou sawest her once, I would not give A farthing for thy life, I tell thee Philocles One fight of her would make thee cry, ay me, Sighs, and look pale, me thinks I do imagine How Like and Idolatrous lover thou wouldst look Through the eyelids, know no body. True, but I have and Antidote, and I can teach it thee. And 'twill Be worth thy learning, when thou shalt see the Tyranny of that same seuruy boy, and what fools He makes of us; shall I describe the beast? A lover. Then to be brief, I will pass over the opinion of your ancient father's, as likewise those strange Loves spo ken of in the Authentic histories of chivalry Amadis du Gaul, Parismus, the Knight of the Sun, or the witty Knight Done Quixot de la Manca, where those brave men, neither Enchantments, Giants, Windmills, nor flocks of sheep could vanquish, are made the trophies of tryum phing love. Neither will I mention the complaints of Sir Guy for the fair Phelis, nor the travels of Parismus for the love of the beauteous Laurana, nor lastly, the most sad penance of the ingenious knight Done Quixot upon the mountains of Scienna Morenna, moou worser by the unjust disdain of the Lady Dulcinea deal Toboso, or our modern Authors, I will not so much as name them, no not that excellent treatise of Tully's Love, written by the Master of Art. Why then to be brief, I think a Lover looks Like and Ass. But Philocles, I would not have thee see this La die, she has a bewitching look. Faith, and that's a good way I can tell you, we younger brother's are beholding to it, alas we must not fallen in love and choose whom we Like best, we have no Jointures for um, as you blessed heirs can have. Why I can want no Panders, I lie in the Consta bles house. By heaven I spoke in earnest, trust your eyes, I'll show you her. That's no matter, My lodging's the next door to this Lords house, And my back Window looks into his Garden, There every morning fair Leucothoe, (For so I hear her named) walking alone, To please her senses makes Aurora blush, To see on brighter then her appear. SEE Philocles, yonders that happy shade, That often vails the fair Lucothoe, And this her usual hour, sheele not be long, Then thou shalt tell me, if so rare and object Ere blessed thine eyes before. And when thou dost, remember what I told thee, I would not be so sick, but soft look to thy heart, Yonder she comes, and thats her waiting woman. Now gaze thy fill, speak man how likest thou her. I would we were a little nearer um We migh but hear what talk these wenches have When they are alone, I warrant some good stuff. I aith is't there about. Why Philocles, what lost already man, Struck dead with one poor glance, look up for shame And tell me how thou likest my judgement now, Now thou dost see. Contain that passion that will else overwhelm All virtue in you, all that is called man, And should be yours, take my advice my heart My life to second you, let us consult, You may find time to speak to her and woe her. 'Tis brave and resolute. It madness that not wisdom rash attempts Betray the means, but never work the end. But take time, The second thoughts our wise men say are best. A Letter, who shall carry it? Yes, there is one upon the Table, I'll stay here at the window, and watch whither she stay or not, what a sud den change is this. What is the letter done already, I see these Lovers have nimble inventions, but how will you send it. Ah, then I see your drift, this stone must guide your Fleeting Letter in the Air, and carry it to that Fair Mark you aim at. I think you would not hit her with such stones as this, Lady look to your self, he that now throws one Stone at you, Hope's to hit you with two. Well I hope, 'Tis ten to one this Lady oft hath seen you, You never lived obscure in Syracuse, Nor walked the streets unknown, and who can tell What place you bear in her affections, Loved or misliked; if bade, this letter sent, Will make her show her scorn, if otherwise, Fear not a woman's wit, sheele find a time To answer your kind Letter, and express What you desire she should, then send it boldly, You have a fairer make there. See what a wonder it strikes um in, how it should come. I Like her well, yet she is not afraid to open it: She starts, stay mark her Actium when she has read the Letter. "LEt it wrong this Letter that it came, "From one that trembled to subscribe his name, "Fearing your hate, Oh let not hate descend, "Nor make you cruel to so vowed a friend, "If yowl not promise love, grant but access, "And let me know my woes are passed redress, "Be joust then beauteous Judge, and Like the laws "Condemn me not till you have herd my cause, "Which when you have, from those fair lips return "Either my life in love, or death in scorn. Am I awake or dream I, is it true Or does my flattering fancy but suggest What I most covet. And with a look that relished love, not scorn, It is even so, Count Ʋ irro is your rival, See how the old Ape smugs up his mouldy chap To seize the bit. If he do marry her Revenge it nobly, make him a Cuckold boy, Stay, I'll not curse him briefly for thy sake, If thou dost marry her mayest thou be made A Cuckold without profit, and never get And Office by it, nor favour at the Court, But may thy large ill got treasury Be spent in her bought lust, and thine own gold Bring thee adulterers, so farewell good Count. Y re kind too late my Lord, had you been thus required, y'had saved your self and me, sons, but if your grief be true you heartily.