FAB. Sweet beauty, fold your sorrows in the thought Of future reconcilement: let your tears Show you a woman, but no[283] farther spent Than from the eyes: for sweet experience says That love is firm, that's flatter'd with delays. MIL. Alas! sir, think you I shall e'er be his? FAB. As sure as parting smiles on future bliss. Yond comes my friend; see, he hath doated So long upon your beauty, that your want Will with a pale retirement waste his blood: For in true love music doth sweetly dwell: Sever'd, these less worlds bear within them hell. _Enter_ MOUNCHENSEY. MOUN. Harry and Frank, you are enjoined to wean Your friendship from me: we must part; the breath Of ill[284] advis'd corruption, pardon me. Faith, I must say so; you may think I love you, I breathe not rougher spite to sever us; We'll meet by stealth, sweet friend, by stealth you twain; Kisses are sweetest got by struggling pain. JER. Our friendship dies not, Raymond. MOUN. Pardon me: I am busied; I have lost my faculties, And buried them in Millicent's clear eyes. MIL. Alas! sweet love, what shall become of me? I must to Cheston to the nunnery, I shall ne'er see thee more. MOUN. How, sweet! I'll be thy votary, we'll often meet: This kiss divides us, and breathes soft adieu-- This be a double charm to keep both true. FAB. Have done: your fathers may chance spy your parting. Refuse not you by any means, good sweetness, To go into the nunnery, for from hence Must we beget your love's sweet happiness. You shall not stay there long: your harder bed Shall be more soft, when nun and maid are dead. _Enter_ BILBO. MOUN. Now, sirrah, what's the matter? BIL. Marry, you must to horse presently; that villanous old gouty churl, Sir Arthur Clare, longs till he be at the nunnery. H. CLARE. How, sir? BIL.[285] O, I cry you mercy, he is your father, sir, indeed; but I am sure that there's less affinity betwixt your two natures than there is between a broker and a cutpurse. MOUN. Bring me my gelding, sirrah. BIL. Well, nothing grieves me, but for the poor wench; she must now cry _vale_ to lobster-pies, artichokes, and all such meats of mortality. Poor gentlewoman! the sign must not be in _virgo_ any longer with her, and that me grieves: farewell. Poor Millicent Must pray and repent: O fatal wonder! She'll now be no fatter, Love must not come at her, Yet she shall be kept under. [_Exit._ JER. Farewell, dear Raymond. H. CLARE. Friend, adieu. MIL. Dear sweet. No joy enjoys my heart till we next meet. [_Exeunt._