_Fra._ How like the Sun Labouring in his Eclipse, dark, and prodigious, She shew'd till now? when having won her way, How full of wonder he breaks out again, And sheds his vertuous beams: excellent Angel, For no less can that heavenly mind proclaim thee, Honour of all thy sex, let it be lawful, And like a Pilgrim thus I kneel to beg it, Not with prophane lips now, nor burnt affections, But, reconcil'd to faith, with holy wishes, To kiss that virgin hand. _Cel._ Take your desire, Sir, And in a nobler way, for I dare trust ye, No other fruit my love must ever yield ye, I fear no more: yet your most constant memory (So much I am wedded to that worthiness) Shall ever be my Friend, Companion, Husband. Farewel, and fairly govern your affections, Stand, and deceive me not: O noble young man, I love thee with my soul, but dare not say it: Once more farewel, and prosper. [_Exit._ _Fra._ Goodness guide thee: My wonder like to fearful shapes in dreams, Has wakened me out of my fit of folly, But not to shake it off: a spell dwells in me, A hidden charm shot from this beauteous Woman, That fate can ne'r avoid, nor Physick find, And by her counsel strengthen'd: only this Is all the help I have, I love fair vertue. Well, something I must do, to be a friend, Yet I am poor, and tardy: something for her too Though I can never reach her excellence, Yet but to give an offer at a greatness. _Enter_ Valentine, Thomas, Hylas, _and_ Sam. _Val._ Be not uncivil _Tom_, and take your pleasure. _Tho._ Do you think I am mad? you'l give me leave To try her fairly? _Val._ Do your best. _Tho._ Why there Boy, But where's the sick man? _Hyl._ Where are the Gentlewomen That should attend him? there's the Patient. Me thinks these Women-- _Tho._ Thou think'st nothing else. _Val._ Go to him friend, and comfort him: I'le lead ye: O my best joy, my worthiest friend, pray pardon me, I am so over-joy'd I want expression: I may live to be thankful: bid your friends welcome. [_Exit_ Val. _Tho._ How do'st thou _Frank_? how do'st thou Boy? bear up man: What, shrink i'th' sinews for a little sickness? _Deavolo morte._ _Fra._ I am o'th' mending hand. _Tho._ How like a Flute thou speak'st: o'th' mending hand man? Gogs bores, I am well, speak like a man of worship. _Fran._ Thou art a mad companion: never staid _Tom_. _Tho._ Let Rogues be staid that have no habitation, A Gentleman may wander: sit thee down _Frank_, And see what I have brought thee: come discover, Open the Scene, and let the work appear. A friend at need you Rogue is worth a million. _Fra._ What hast thou there, a julip?