_Ar._ No, you are too pure an object to behold, Too excellent to look upon, and live; I must remove. _Zab._ She is a woman Sir, Fy, what faint heart is this? _Arn._ The house of wonder. _Zab._ Do not you think your self now truly happy? You have the abstract of all sweetness by ye, The precious wealth youth labours to arrive at; Nor is she less in honour, than in beauty, _Ferrara's_ Royal Duke is proud to call her His best, his Noblest, and most happy Sister, Fortune has made her Mistress of herself, Wealthy, and wise, without a power to sway her, Wonder of _Italy_, of all hearts Mistress. _Arn._ And all this is-- _Zab._ _Hippolyta_ the beauteous. _Hip._ You are a poor relator of my fortunes, Too weak a Chronicle to speak my blessings, And leave out that essential part of story I am most high and happy in, most fortunate, The acquaintance, and the noble fellowship Of this fair Gentleman: pray ye do not wonder, Nor hold it strange to hear a handsome Lady Speak freely to ye: with your fair leave and courtesie I will sit by ye. _Arn._ I know not what to answer, Nor where I am, nor to what end consider; Why do you use me thus? _Hip._ Are ye angry Sir, Because ye are entertain'd with all humanity? Freely and nobly us'd? _Arn._ No gentle Lady, That were uncivil, but it much amazes me A stranger, and a man of no desert Should find such floods of courtesie. _Hip._ I love ye, I honour ye, the first and best of all men, And where that fair opinion leads, 'tis usual These trifles that but serve to set off, follow. I would not have you proud now, nor disdainful Because I say I love ye, though I swear it, Nor think it a stale favour I fling on ye, Though ye be handsome, and the only man I must confess I ever fixt mine eye on, And bring along all promises that please us, Yet I should hate ye then, despise ye, scorn ye, And with as much contempt pursue your person, As now I do with love. But you are wiser, At least I think, more master of your fortune, And so I drink your health. _Arn._ Hold fast good honesty, I am a lost man else. _Hip._ Now you may kiss me, 'Tis the first kiss, I ever askt, I swear to ye. _Arn._ That I dare do sweet Lady. _Hip._ You do it well too; You are a Master Sir, that makes you coy. _Arn._ Would you would send your people off. _Hip._ Well thought on. Wait all without. [_Exit_ Zab. _and Servants._ _Zab._ I hope she is pleas'd throughly. _Hip._ Why stand ye still? here's no man to detect ye, My people are gone off: come, come, leave conjuring, The Spirit you would raise, is here already, Look boldly on me. _Arn._ What would you have me do? _Hip._ O most unmanly question! have you do? Is't possible your years should want a Tutor? I'le teach ye: come, embrace me.