+Brow.+ A mistress, to whose beauty I have paid My vows, most fervent vows, e'er since I was Of stature fit to be an amorist. +San.+ One of the maids-of-honour to Queen Mab? +Brow.+ Your lordship guesses near; for she is one O' th' chamberers to her Fairy Majesty: A lady of most subtle wit, who, while She puts a handkerchief or gorget on, Her little highness holds intelligence. She raiseth factions, and unites the angry: She's much upon design. +San.+ Where found you her? +Brow.+ Walking alone, under the shadow of A tulip, and inveighing 'gainst court-arts, 'Cause one of Oberon's grooms had got from her The monopoly of transporting gnats-- A project she long aim'd at. +San.+ No more fooling: I am grown angry with my patience. Boy, sing those verses were presented me This morning. +Brow.+ I will creep behind a bush, And then for voice vie with the nightingale: If seen, I am so bashful. +San.+ Take your way. +Song+ (_without_). _Fine young folly, though you were That fair beauty I did swear, Yet you ne'er could reach my heart; For we courtiers learn at school Only with your sex to fool; Y'are not worth the serious part._ _When I sigh and kiss your hand, Cross my arms, and wond'ring stand, Holding parley with your eye: Then dilate on my desires, Swear the sun ne'er shot such fires; All is but a handsome lie._ _When I eye your curl or lace, Gentle soul, you think your face Straight some murder doth commit; And your virtue doth begin To grow scrupulous of my sin, When I talk to show my wit._ _Therefore, madam, wear no cloud, Nor to check my love grow proud; In sooth I much do doubt, 'Tis the powder in your hair, Not your breath, perfumes the air, And your clothes that set you out._ _Yet though truth has this confess'd, And I vow I love in jest: When I next begin to court, And protest an amorous flame, You will swear I in earnest am: Bedlam! this is pretty sport._ _As the song ends, enter +Cleantha+ veiled._ She breaks forth like the morning in a cloud. 'Tis for the safety of my eyes you veil The glory of your beauties, which else might Dazzle, not catch the sight; but I discern A fair Cleantha through this gloominess. Appear and speak, bright madam. Why such silence? O, famish not my ear, which greedily Longs to devour the music of your language: Is it to teach me that delight must be Entomb'd in secrecy, or else to show How mad a spendthrift I'm to talk away The treasure of this hour? Come, fair, unveil. +Cle.+ O, give me leave yet to retain my blushes.