NUR. Yes, my dear madam, heaven; whither, My most sweet lady, but to heaven? hell's a Tailor's warehouse; he has the keys, and sits In triumph cross-legg'd o'er the mouth: It is no place of horror, There's no flames made blue with brimstone; But the bravest silks, so fashionable-- O, I do long to wear such properties! EVAD. Leave your talk, One knocks: go, see. [_Knocks within._ NUR. O, 'tis my love! I come. [_Exit._ EVAD. A tailor; fie! blush, my too tardy soul, And on my brow place a becoming scorn, Whose fatal sight may kill his mounting hopes. Were he but one that, when 'twas said he's born, Had been born noble, high, Equal in blood to that our house boasts great; I'd fly into his arms with as much speed As an air-cutting arrow to the stake. But, O, he comes! my fortitude is fled. _Enter_ NURSE _and_ GIOVANNO _with a gown_. GIO. Yonder she is, and walks, yet in sense strong enough to maintain argument; she's under my cloak; for the best part of a lady, as this age goes, is her clothes; in what reckoning ought we tailors to be esteemed then, that are the master-workmen to correct nature! You shall have a lady, in a dialogue with some gallant touching his suit, the better part of man, so suck the breath that names the skilful tailor, as if it nourished her. Another Donna fly from the close embracements of her lord, to be all-over-measured by her tailor. One will be sick, forsooth, and bid her maid deny her to this don, that earl, the other marquis, nay, to a duke; yet let her tailor lace and unlace her gown, so round the skirts to fit her to the fashion. Here's one has in my sight made many a noble don to hang the head, dukes and marquises, three in a morning, break their fasts on her denials; yet I, her tailor, blessed be the kindness of my loving stars, am ushered; she smiles, and says I have stayed too long, and then finds fault with some slight stitch, that eyelet-hole's too close, then must I use my bodkin, 'twill never please else; all will not do. I must take it home for no cause but to bring it her again next morning. We tailors are the men, spite o' the proverb, ladies cannot live without. It is we That please them best in their commodity: There's magic in our habits, tailors can Prevail 'bove him honour styles best of man. EVAD. Bid him draw near. NUR. Come hither, love, sweet chuck: My lady calls. GIO. What means this woman? sure, she loves me too, Tailors shall speed, had they no tongues to woo: Women would sue to them. [_Aside._] EVAD. What, have you done it now? GIO. Madam, your gown by my industry Is purg'd of errors. EVAD. Lord, what a neat methodical way you have To vent your phrases; pray, when did you commence? GIO. What mean you, madam? EVAD. Doctor, I mean; you speak so physical.