IRE. He long importuned her to show her face, which after many urgings she consented to; and he in recompense made a low reverence to her, and then thanks her for the great favour, and concludes he never did receive so great a one from any woman, since all else have done them with a reference to themselves; but hers was merely goodness, for, before he saw her, he might have suspected her face, handsomely hid, for a piece of beauty, if her virtue would have suffered him to be longer in that error. PHIL. I would I were a man for his sake. IRE. So you told him, and he, still courteous for all your anger, promised to give you what you wanted of a man, or teach you how to make one. HER. Thou wilt never be old, wench, if thou still keep'st this humour. IRE. Not a sigh older these seven years, if't please Sir Cupid; for he blows our bellows. [_Enter_ ERGASTO _and_ CLEON.] But look, yonder's your servant, there's no starting now; you must stand to't. But before he comes to interrupt us, observe with me, how in that deep band, short cloak, and his great boots, he looks three storeys high, and his head is the garret where he keeps nothing but lists of horse-matches, and some designs for his next clothes. PHIL. Where is his cellarage? IRE. He'll show it thee himself, dear Phillida, and thine too, if thou wilt have him! But they make to us! ERG. Madam, will you honour me and this gentleman with a sight of that which doth enrich the world? HER. You will not take our excuses, if we should say you find us now with more advantage to our beauties. ERG. So breaks the morning forth, but the sun's rays are not so quick and piercing as your eyes, for they descend even to our hearts. IRE. Heaven defend! my heart would tremble, if they should. ERG. Why, madam? IRE. See such impieties as are lodged there in a man, and not be struck with horror! 'tis impossible. ERG. Your wit doth make you cruel. But, madam, I have something to deliver unto you, which your father commanded no ear should hear but yours. IRE. What have you there, Cleon? CLE. Verses, madam. IRE. Whose? CLE. Of Lord Ergasto's, written in celebration of the fair Hermione. IRE. Did he buy them, or found them without a father, and has adopted them for his own? CLE. They are his own. IRE. Here. CLE. I pray read them. IRE. What have I deserved of you, good Cleon, that you should make me read his verses in his own presence? If you think I have not already as ill an opinion of him as I can have, you lose your labour. CLE. Read them, and I'll assure you you'll find things well said and seriously; and you will alter your opinion of him.