_Mal._ Pray you stay, Sir; You are my friend; yet as the Proverb says, When love puts in, friendship is gone: suppose You should your self affect her? _Leon._ Do you think I'll commit incest? for it is no less, She being my Cousin German. Fare you well, Sir. _Mal._ I had forgot that, for this once forgive me. Only to ease the throbbing of my heart, (For I do feel strange pangs) instruct me what You will say for me. _Leon._ First, I'll tell her that She hath so far besotted you, that you have Almost forgot to cast accompt. _Mal._ Meer truth, Sir. _Leon._ That of a wise and provident Steward, You are turn'd stark Ass. _Mal._ Urge that point home, I am so. _Leon._ That you adore the ground she treads upon, And kiss her footsteps. _Mal._ As I do when I find their print in the snow. _Leon._ A loving fool I know it, By your bloudless frosty lips; then having related How much you suffer for her, and how well You do deserve it-- _Mal._ How? to suffer? _Leon._ No, Sir, to have your love return'd. _Mal._ That's good, I thank you. _Leon._ I will deliver her an Inventory Of your good parts: as this, your precious nose Dropping affection; your high forehead reaching Almost to the Crown of your head; your slender waste, And a back not like a threshers, but a bending, And Court-like back, and so forth, for your Body. But when I touch your mind, for that must take her, (Since your out-side promises little) I'll enlarge it, (Though ne'r so narrow) as your arts to thrive, Your composition with the Cook and Butler For Cony-Skins and Chippings, and half a share With all the under Officers of the house, In strangers bounties, that she shall have all, And you as 'twere her Bailiff. _Mal._ As I will be. _Leon._ As you shall, so I'll promise. Then your qualities, As playing on a Gyttern, or a Jews-Trump. _Mal._ A little too on the Viol. _Leon._ Fear you nothing. Then singing her asleep with curious Catches Of your own making; for as I have heard, You are Poetical. _Mal._ Something given that way; Yet my works seldom thrive: and the main reason The Poets urge for't, is, because I am not As poor as they are. _Leon._ Very likely; fetch her While I am in the vein. _Mal._ 'Tis an apt time, my Lady being at her Prayers. _Leon._ Let her pray on. Nay go, and if upon my intercession She do you not some favour, I'll disclaim her; I'll ruminate on't the while. _Mal._ A hundred Crowns is your reward.