_Mar._ Yes, and who gave it her? And what they promis'd more, besides a spoon, And what Apostles picture: she is christned too, In token wherefore she is call'd _Isabella_, The daughter of a Countrey plow-swain by: If this be not true, she lies. _Ant._ She cannot; It would be seen a blister on her lip, Should falshood touch it, it is so tender: Had her name held, 't had been _Ismenia_, And not another of her name. _Mar._ Shall I speak? _Ant._ Yes, if thou'lt speak truth: Is she not wondrous like? _Mar._ As two garments of the same fashion, Cut from the same piece, yet if any excell, This has the first; and in my judgment 'tis so. _Ant._ 'Tis my opinion. _Mar._ Were it the face Where mine eye should dwell, I would please both With this, as soon as one with the other. _Ant._ And yet the other is the case of this. Had I not look'd upon _Ismenia_, I ne'r had staid beyond good-morrows time In view of this. _Mar._ Would I could leave him here, 'Twere a free passage to _Ismenia_: I must now blow, as to put out the fire Yet kindle't more. You not consider Sir, The great disparitie is in their bloods, Estates and fortunes: there's the rich beauty Which this poor homeliness is not endow'd with; There's difference enough. _Ant._ The least of all. Equality is no rule in Loves Grammar: That sole unhappiness is left to Princes To marry bloud: we are free disposers, And have the power to equalize their blouds Up to our own; we cannot keep it back, 'Tis a due debt from us. _Mar._ I Sir, had you No Father nor Uncle, nor such hinderers, You might do with your self at your pleasure; But as it is. _Ant._ As it is; 'tis nothing: Their powers will come too late, to give me back The yesterday I lost. _Mar._ Indeed, to say sooth, Your opposition from the other part Is of more force; there you run the hazard Of every hour a life, had you supply; You meet your dearest enemy in love With all his hate about him: 'Twill be more hard For your _Ismenia_ to come home to you, Than y[o]u to goe to Countrey _Isabella_. _Enter_ Julio. _Ant._ Tush; 'tis not fear removes me. _Mar._ No more: your Uncle. _Jul._ Oh, the good hour upon you Gentlemen: Welcome Nephew; Speak it to your friend Sir, It may be happier receiv'd from you, In his acceptance. _Ant._ I made bold, Uncle, To do it before; and I think he believes it. _Mar._ 'Twas never doubted, Sir.