BAR. O, monstrous! Never man stole with so little judgment. EUPH. Of all the love-songs that were ever made, He could not have chose out one more unfit, More palpably unfit, that must betray His most ridiculous theft. LADY W. Who would have thought My servant should suppose I think myself Too young to love, that have already had One husband! EUPH. O, excuse him, gentle madam, He found it in the song. BAR. And, it should seem, He could get no other song but this. LADY W. Surely a woman of five-and-thirty year old Is not too young to love! BAR. O, spare him, madam! EUPH. Let's raise him up. I think the sonnet's good: There's somewhat in't to th' purpose. Read it again. [_He reads it again._ EUPH. ----_For taste most meet._ Very good; and there he tickled it? Mark'd you that, madam! The two last of all? _Then lose no time, for love hath wings--_ He gives you fitting counsel. LADY W. Yes, I like it. DOT. I thought, when they understood it, they would like it: I am sure, I have heard this song prais'd ere now. LADY W. This does deserve a double favour, servant. DOT. Let this be the favour, sweet mistress. [_Kisses her._ EUPH. How some men's poetry happens to be rewarded! LADY W. Shall we go in? But, prythee, Euphues, What is the reason sweet Artemia, Thy cousin, is not here? EUPH. I know not, madam; But her pretence was business. I am going To visit her. If you go in to keep Th' old couple company, I'll fetch her to you. LADY W. I prythee, do! Farewell. Come, servant, Shall we go in? DOT. I'll wait upon you, mistress. [_Exeunt._ THEODORE, ARTEMIA. THEO. I will acquaint him, lady, with the hour, And to his longing ear deliver all Your sweet salutes; which is the only air Of life and comfort Eugeny takes in. Your constant love and virtues, sweetest lady, Are those preservatives, which from his heart Expel the killing fits of melancholy, And do, in spite of fortune, quicken him. ART. O, would those comforts could arrive at him, That from my wishing thoughts are hourly sent! THEO. Such virtuous wishes seldom are in vain. ART. I should be far more sad in the behalf Of my dear Eugeny, but that I know He does enjoy your sweet society, Which he beyond all value does esteem. THEO. His own is recompense enough for mine. And I the gainer in it; did not grief For his misfortune stain that perfect joy, Which I could take in his dear company. ART. If I should speak, sir, how he values you, I should too much oppress your modesty.