Wrong me no more as ye are men. _The._ She is fast. _Cra._ Away with her. [_Exeunt._ _Scæna Secunda._ _Enter_ Agenor, _and Gentlemen_. _Age._ Now Gentlemen, the time's come now t' enjoy That fruitful happiness my heart has long'd for: This day be happy call'd, and when old Time Brings it about each year, crown'd with that sweetness It gives me now, see every man observe it, And laying all aside bears shew of business, Give this to joy and triumph: How fits my cloaths? _1 Gent._ Handsome, and wondrous well, Sir. _Ag._ Do they shew richly? For to those curious eyes even beauty envies, I must not now appear poor, or low fashion'd; Methinks I am younger than I was, far younger; And such a promise in my bloud I feel now, That if there may be a perpetual youth Bestowed on man, I am that soul shall win it: Does my hair stand well, Lord how ill-favourdly You have drest me to day! how baldly! why this Cloak? _2 Gen._ Why 'tis the richest, Sir. _Age._ And here ye have put me on A pair of Breeches look like a pair of Bagpipes. _1 Gen._ Believe Sir, they shew bravely. _Ag._ Why these Stockins? _2 Gen._ Your Leg appears-- _Ag._ Peuh, I would have had 'em Peach-colour, All young, and new about me: and this Scarf here A goodly thing: you have trickt me like a Puppet. _1 Gen._ I'll undertake to rig forth a whole Navy, And with less labor than one man in love. They are never pleas'd. _2 Gen._ Methinks he looks well. _1 Gen._ Well: As man can look, as handsome: now do I wonder He found not fault his Nose was put on ugly, Or his Eyes lookt too gray, and rail at us, They are the waywards things, these Lovers. _2 Gent._ All will be right. When once it comes to th' push. _1 Gent._ I would they were at it For our own quiet sake. _Ag._ Come, wait upon me, And bear your selves like mine, my friends, and nobly. [_Ex._ _Scæna Tertia._ _Enter_ Theanor, Crates, _and_ Erat[on], _bringing_ Merione. _Erat._ This is her Brothers door. _Cra._ There lay her down then. Lay her along: she is fast still. [_Era_]. As forgetfulness. _Cra._ Be not you stirr'd now, but away to your Mother, Give all attendance, let no stain appear Of fear, or doubt in your face: carry your self confidently. _The._ But whither runs your drift now?