+Luc.+ Heyday, this is excellent! What voice is that? O, is it you? I cry you mercy, sir: I thought as much; these are your tricks still with me: You have been sotting on't all night with wine, And here you come to finish out your revels. I shall be, one day, able to live private, I shall, and not be made the epilogue Of all your drunken meetings. For shame, away! The rosy morning blushes at thy baseness. Julia, go throw the music a reward, And set them hence. +Aur.+ Divine Lucretia, Do not receive with scorn my proffer'd service: O, turn again, though from your arched brow, Stung with disdain, and bent down to your eyen, You shoot me through with darts of cruelty. Ah, foolish man, to court the flame that burns him! +Luc.+ What would this fellow have? +Aur.+ Shine still, fair mistress; And though in silence, yet still look upon me. Your eye discourses[310] with more rhetoric Than all the gilded tongues of orators. +Luc.+ Out of my pity, not my love, I'll answer. You come to woo me, and speak fair; 'tis well. You think to win me too: you are deceiv'd. For when I hate a person, all his actions, Though ne'er so good, prove but his prejudice: For flatteries are like sweet pills--though sweet, Yet if they work not straight, invert to poison. +Aur.+ Why do you hate me, lady? Was there ever Woman so cruel to hate him that lov'd her? O, do not so degenerate from nature, Which form'd you of a temper soft as silk; And to the sweet composure of your body Took not a drop of gall or corrupt humour! But all your blood was clear and purified. Then, as your limbs are fair, so be your mind: Cast not a scandal on her curious hand, To say she made that crooked or uneven; For virtue is the best, which is deriv'd From a sweet feature. Women crown their youth With the chaste ornaments of love and truth. +Luc.+ This is a language you are studied in, And you have spoke it to a thousand. +Aur.+ Never, never to any; for my soul is cut so To the proportion of what you are, That all the other beauty in the world That is not found within your face, seems vile. O, that I were a veil upon that face,[311] To hide it from the world! methinks I could Envy the very sun for gazing on you! +Luc.+ I wonder that a fellow of no worth Should talk thus liberally: be so impudent, After so many slightings and abuses Extorted from me beyond modesty, To press upon me still. Have not I told you My mind in words, plain to be understood, How much I hate you? Can I not enjoy The freedom of my chamber, but you must Stand in my prospect? If you please, I will Resign up all, and leave you possession. What can I suffer or expect more grievous From the enforcement of an enemy?