_Rut._ These by themselves, without more helps of nature, Would set a woman hard; I know 'em all, And where their first aims light; I'le lay my head on't, I'le take her eye, as soon as she looks on me, And if I come to speak once, woe be to her, I have her in a nooze, she cannot scape me; I have their several lasts. _Dua._ You are throughly studied, But tell me Sir, being unacquainted with her, As you confess you are-- _Rut._ That's not an hours work, I'le make a Nun forget her beads in two hours. _Dua._ She being set in years, next none of those lusters Appearing in her eye, that warm the fancy; Nor nothing in her face, but handsom ruines. _Rut._ I love old stories: those live believ'd, Authentique, When 20. of your modern faces are call'd in, For new opinion, paintings, and corruptions; Give me an old confirm'd face; besides she sav'd me, She sav'd my life, have I not cause to love her? She's rich and of a constant state, a fair one, Have I not cause to wooe her? I have tryed sufficient All your young Phillies, I think this back has try'd 'em, And smarted for it too: they run away with me, Take bitt between the teeth, and play the Devils; A staied pace now becomes my years; a sure one, Where I may sit and crack no girths. _Dua._ How miserable, If my Mother should confirm, what I suspect now, Beyond all humane cure were my condition! Then I shall wish, this body had been so too. Here comes the Lady Sir. _Enter_ Guiomar. _Rut._ Excellent Lady, To shew I am a creature, bound to your service, And only yours-- _Guio._ Keep at that distance Sir; For if you stir-- _Rut._ I am obedient. She has found already, I am for her turn; With what a greedy hawks eye she beholds me! Mark how she musters all my parts. _Guio._ A goodly Gentleman, Of a more manly set, I never look'd on. _Rut._ Mark, mark her eyes still; mark but the carriage of 'em. _Guio._ How happy am I now, since my Son fell, He fell not by a base unnoble hand! As that still troubled me; how far more happy Shall my revenge be, since the Sacrifice, I offer to his grave, shall be both worthy A Sons untimely loss, and a Mothers sorrow! _Rut._ Sir, I am made believe it; she is mine own, I told you what a spell I carried with me, All this time does she spend in contemplation Of that unmatch'd delight: I shall be thankfull to ye; And if you please to know my house, to use it; To take it for your own. _Guio._ Who waits without there? _Enter_ Guard, _and_ Servants, _they seize upon_ Rut. _and bind him._ _Rut._ How now? what means this, Lady? _Guio._ Bind him fast. _Rut._ Are these the bride-laces you prepare for me? The colours that you give? _Dua._ Fye Gentle Lady, This is not noble dealing. _Guio._ Be you satisfied, I[t] seems you are a stranger to this meaning, You shall not be so long.