NUR. Nay, madam, 'tis a youth, I praise my stars For their kind influence, a woman may be proud on, And I am. O, 'tis a youth in print, a new Adonis. And I could wish, although my glass tells me I'm wondrous fair, I were a Venus for him. GIO. O lady, you are more fairer by far. NUR. La you there, madam! GIO. Where art thou, man? art thou transform'd, Or art thou grown so base, that This ridiculous witch should think I love her? [_Aside._] EVAD. Leave us. NUR. I go. Duck, I'll be here anon; I will, dove. [_Exit._ GIO. At your best leisure. Protect me, manhood, lest my glutted sense, Feeding with such an eager appetite on Your rare beauty, [and] breaking the sluices, Burst into a flood of passionate tears. I must, I will enjoy her, though a Destroying clap from Jove's artillery were the reward: And yet, dull-daring sir, by your favour, no, He must be more than savage can attempt To injure so much spotless innocence: Pardon, great powers, the thought of such offence. [_Aside._] EVAD. When Sebastiano, clad in conquering steel, And in a phrase able to kill, or from a coward's heart Banish a thought of fear, woo'd me, [He] won not so much on my captive soul As this youth's silence does. Help me, some power, out of this tangling maze, I shall be lost else. [_Aside._ GIO. Fear, to the breast of women; build Thy throne on their soft hearts; mine must not be Thy slave.--[_Aside._] Your pleasure, madam? EVAD. I have a question must be directly answer'd; No excuse, but from thy heart a truth. GIO. Command me, madam; were it a secret, On whose hinges hung the casements of my life, Yet your command shall be obey'd to the least Scruple. EVAD. I take your word: My aged nurse tells me you love her: Answer; is't a truth? GIO. She's jealous, I'll try; As oracle. EVAD. Ha! GIO. 'Tis so, I'll further; I love her, madam, With as rich a flame as anchorites Do saints they offer prayers unto. I hug her memory as I would embrace The breath of Jove when it pronounced me Happy, or prophet that should speak my After-life great, even with adoration deified. EVAD. My life, like to a bubble i' th' air, Dissolv'd by some uncharitable wind, Denies my body warmth: your breath Has made me nothing. [_She faints._ GIO. Rather let me lose all external being. Madam, good madam. EVAD. You say you love her. GIO. Madam, I do. Can any love the beauty of a stone, Set by some curious artist in a ring, But he must attribute some [virtue] to The file that adds unto the lustre? You appear like to a gem, cut by the Steady hand of careful nature into such Beauteous tablets, that dull art, Famous in skilful flattery, is become A novice in what fame proclaim'd him doctor; He can't express one spark of your great lustre. Madam, those beauties that, but studied on By their admirers, are deifi'd, serve But as spots to make your red and white Envi'd of cloister'd saints.