WILL. So much the rather look you to be sped, Care for no more, but once to come within her, And when you have done, then let another win her. WIT. To come within her, child? what meanest thou by that? WILL. One mass for a penny, you know what is what! WIT. Heard you ever such a counsel of such a Jack sprat? WILL. Why, sir, do ye think to do any good, If ye stand in a corner like Robin Hood? Nay, you must stout it, and face it out with the best: Set on a good countenance, make the most of the least, Whosoever skip in, look to your part, And while you live, beware of a false heart. WIT. Both blame and shame rash boldness doth breed. WILL. You must adventure both: spare to speak, spare to speed. What tell you me of shame? it is shame to steal a horse. WIT. More haste than good speed makes many fare the worse. WILL. But he that takes not such time, while he may, Shall leap at a whiting, when time is away. WIT. But he that leaps, before he look, good son, May leap in the mire, and miss when he hath done. [_Enter Science, Season, and Experience_. SCIENCE. Methink I hear the voice of Will, Wit's boy. WIT. I see her come, her sorrow and my joy, My salve and yet my sore, my comfort and my care, The causer of my wound, and yet the well of my welfare; O happy wight, that have the saint of your request, O hopeless hope, that holdeth me from that which likes me best! Twixt hope and fear I stand, to mar or else to make, This day to be relieved quite, or else my death-wound to take. REASON. Here let us rest awhile, and pause all three: EXPERIENCE. Daughter, sit down, belike this same is he. WILL. Be of good cheer, sir; be ruled by me. Women are best pleased, till they be used homely, Look her in the face, and tell your tale stoutly. WIT. O pearl of passing price, sent down from God on high, The sweetest beauty to entice, that hath been seen with eye: The well of wealth to all, that no man doth annoy: The key of kingdoms and the seal of everlasting joy. The treasure and the store, whom all good things began, The nurse of lady Wisdom's love, the link of man and man. What words shall me suffice to utter my desire? What heat of talk shall I devise, for to express my fire? I burn and yet I freeze, I flame and cool as fast, In hope to win and for to lese, my pensiveness doth last; Why should my dull spirit appal my courage so? O, salve my sore, or sle me quite, by saying yea or no! You are the mark at whom I shoot to hit or miss, My life it stays on you alone, to you my suit it is, A suit[400] not much unmeet with you some grace[401] to find, Dame Nature's son, my name is Wit, that fancieth you by kind, And here I come this day to wait and to attend, In hope to have my hoped prey,[402] or else my life to end.