_Enter_ Rosalure, Lilia, _Servant_. _Ros._ Pray ye, where's my friend, Sir? _Fac._ She is within, Ladies, but here's another Gentlewoman, A stranger to this Town: so please you visit her, 'Twill be well taken. _Lil._ Where is she? _Fac._ There, above, Ladies. _Ser._ 'Bless me: what thing is this? two Pinacles Upon her pate! Is't not a glode to catch Wood-cocks? _Ros._ Peace, ye rude knave. _Ser._ What a bouncing Bum she has too! There's Sail enough for a Carrack. _Ros._ What is this Lady? For as I live, she's a goodly woman. _Fac._ Ghess, ghess. _Lil._ I have not seen a nobler Presence. _Ser._ 'Tis a lustie wench: now could I spend my forty-pence, With all my heart, to have but one fling at her; To give her but a washing blow. _Lil._ Ye Rascal. _Ser._ I that's all a man has, for's good will: 'twill be long enough, Before ye cry come _Anthonie_, and kiss me. _Lil._ I'le have ye whipt. _Ros._ Has my friend seen this Lady? _Fac._ Yes, yes, and is well known to her. _Ros._ I much admire her Presence. _Lil._ So do I too: For I protest, she is the handsomest, The rarest, and the newest to mine eye That ever I saw yet. _Ros._ I long to know her; My friend shall do that kindness. _Ori._ So she shall Ladies, Come, pray ye come up. _Ros._ O me. _Lil._ Hang me if I knew her: Were I a man my self, I should now love ye; Nay, I should doat. _Ros._ I dare not trust mine eyes; For as I live ye are the strangest alter'd, I must come up to know the truth. _Ser._ So must I, Lady; For I am a kind of unbeliever too. _Lil._ Get ye gone, Sirrah; And what ye have seen, be secret in: you are paid else, No more of your long tongue. _Fac._ Will ye go in Ladies, And talk with her? These venturers will come straight: Away with this fellow. _Lil._ There, Sirrah, go, disport ye. _Ser._ I would the trunk-hos'd-woman would go with me. [_Exit._ SCENE V. _Enter_ Mirabel, Pinac, Belleur. _Pin._ Is she so glorious handsom? _Mir._ You would wonder: Our Women look like Gipsies, like Gills to her: Their Clothes and fashions beggerly, and Bankrupt: Base, old, and scurvy. _Bel._ How looks her face? _Mir._ Most heavenly: And the becoming-motion of her bodie So sets her off. _Bel._ Why then we shall stay. _Mir._ Pardon me: That's more than I know: if she be that woman, She appears to be. _Bel._ As 'tis impossible. _Mir._ I shall then tell ye more. _Pin._ Did ye speak to her?