_Grimes_. He has alterd himselfe out of his owne cutt since he was steward; yet, if you saw him in my ladyes Chamber you would take him for some usher of a dancing schoole, as being aptest in sight for a crosse cap. _Tho_. Excellent _Grimes_ still! _Grimes_. By his cloathes you might deeme him a knight; but yet if you uncase him, you will find his sattin dublett naught but fore sleaves & brest, the back part buckram; his cloake and cape of two sorts; his roses and garters of my ladyes old Cypres: to conclude, sir, he is an ambodexter or a Jack-of-all-sides & will needs mend that which Nature made: he takes much upon him since the old Knight dyed, and does fully intend to run to hell[58] for the lady: he hates all wines and strong drinks--mary, tis but in publique, for in private he will be drunke, no tinker like him. _Bon_. Peace, sirrah; observe. _Lov_. So, let me see the _summa totalis_ of my sweet ladies perfections. _Grimes_. Good, he has her in whole already. _Tho_. Peace, _Grimes_. _Lov_. _Imprimis, her faire haire; no silken sleave Can be so soft the gentle worm does weave. It[em], noe Plush or satten sleeke, I vow, May be compard unto her velvet brow. It[em], her eyes--two buttons made of iett; Her lipps gumd taffety that will not frett; Her cheeks are changeable, as I suppose,-- Carnation and white, lyllie and rose_. _Grimes_. I, there it goes. _Bon_. I protest I comend him; he goes through stitch with her like the Master of his trade. _Lov_. _It[em] her brests two bottomes[59] be of thred, By which love to his laborinth is led. Her belly_-- _Grimes_. I, marry, sir, now he comes to the purpose. _Lov_. _Her Belly a soft Cushion where no sinner But her true love must dare stick a pin in her_. _Grimes_. That line has got the prick and prayse from all the rest. _Lov_. _Butt to that stuff of stuffs, that without scoff Is Camills haire or else stand further off_. _Grimes_. How many shreads has he stoale here to patch up this lady? _Lov_. _The totall some of my blest deity Is the magazine of Natures treasury_.-- Soe, this made up, will I take an occasion to dropp where she may find it. But, stay; here's company. _Bon_. Mr. _Lovell_. _Lov_. And see, I shall divulge myselfe. _Grimes_. A foole, I doubt not. _Bon_. Is your lady stirring? _Lov_. She is risen, sir, and early occupied in her occasions spiritual, and domesticke busines. _Enter Lady & Magdalen_. _Lady_. Sweet Mr. _Bonvil_. The simple entertain[m]ent you receave here I feare will scare you from us: you're so early Up, you do not sleepe well. _Tho_. I cannot looke on her But Ime as violent as a high-wrought sea In my desires; a fury through my eyes At every glance of hers invades my heart. _Lady_. What ayles you, servant? are you not well? _Bon_. 'Tis his humour, Madam; he is accustomed, though it be in company, to hold a dialogue with his thoughts. Please you, lady, to give his fever libertie; the fit will soon be overpasd.