+San.+ You mistake him, madam. Though he talk positive, and bustle 'mong The sober lords, pretend to embassies And state-designs all day; he's one of us At night; he'll play, he'll drink,--you guess the rest. He'll quarrel too, then underhand compound. Why, for a need he'll jeer and speak profane; Court, and then laugh at her he courted. Madam, Forgive him his pretence to gravity, And he's an absolute cavalier. +Cle.+ My lord, He owes you for this fair certificate; Yet I fear your character's beyond his merit. +Oni.+ Madam, dissemble not so great a virtue; Nor, to obey the tyranny of custom, Become the court's fair hypocrite. I know This vanity for fashion-sake you wear, And all those gaieties you seem t' admire Are but your laughter. +Cle.+ Sir, your charity Abuseth you extremely. +Oni.+ Come, you cannot Disguise that wisdom, which doth glory in The beauteous mansion it inhabits. Madam, This soul of mine, how coarse soe'er 'tis cloth'd, Took the honour to admire you, soon as first You shin'd at court: nor had a timorous silence So long denied me to profess my service, But that I fear'd I might be lost i' the crowd Of your admirers. +Cle.+ Nor can I perceive Any strong hope now to the contrary. +Oni.+ Nor I: but give me licence t' undeceive The world, that so mistakes you. This young lord Flatters his folly that indeed you are Sick of that humour you but counterfeit; Believes y' are frail and easy; since, if not, His courtship were without design. +Cle.+ My lord, What means the gentleman? He hopes to talk me Into a virtue I ne'er practis'd yet, And much suspect I never shall. +San.+ Pray, madam, Pardon his ignorance: 'tis want of breeding. +Oni.+ Pardon your mirth, fair madam, and brush off This honour'd dust that soils your company; This thing whom nature carelessly obtruded Upon the world to teach that pride and folly Make titular greatness th' envy but of fools, The wise man's pity. +San.+ Sir, your words are rude. +Oni.+ Sure, no, my lord: perhaps in times of yore They might be construed so, when superstition Worshipp'd each lord an idol. Now we find, By sad experience, that you are mere men, If vice debauch you not to beasts. +San.+ The place is privileg'd, sir. +Oni.+ I know it is, and therefore speak thus boldly. If you grow hot, you have your grots, my lord, And in your villa you may domineer O'er th' humble country-gentleman, who stands Aloof and bare. +Cle.+ My lord, leave off the combat; Y' are hardly match'd. And see, the Lord Florentio! _Enter +Florentio+ and +Velasco+._ The queen attends his coming. Sir, you'll find A more convenient school to read this lecture. +Oni.+ But none so beautiful to hear me.