_Ism._ Oh no deeper: Prethee be silent, (wench) it may be thy case. _Am._ You must be searched; the wound will rancle, Cosen And of so sweet a nature. _Ism._ Dear _Aminta_: Make it not sorer. _Am._ And on my life admires ye. _Ism._ Call the Coach, Cosen. _Am._ The Coach, the Coach. _Ter._ 'Tis ready bring the Coach there. _Lis._ Well my brave Enemies, we shall yet meet ye, And our old hate shall testifie. _Ter._ It shall (Cosen.) [_Exeunt._ _Scæna Secunda._ _Enter_ Antonio _and_ Martine. _Ant._ Their swords, alass, I weigh 'em not (dear Friend) The indiscretion of the Owners blunts 'em; The fury of the House affrights not me, It spends it self in words: (Oh me _Martine_) There was a two edg'd eye, a Lady carried A weapon that no valor can avoyd, Nor Art (the hand of Spirit) put aside. O Friend, it broke out on me like a bullet Wrapt in a cloud of fire: that point (_Martine_) Dazled my sence, and was too subtle for me, Shot like a Comet in my face, and wounded (To my eternal ruine,) my hearts valor. _Mar._ Methinks she was no such piece. _Ant._ Blaspheme not Sir, She is so far beyond weak commendation, That impudence will blush to think ill of her. _Mar._ I see it not, and yet I have both eyes open: And I could judge, I know there is no beauty Till our eyes give it 'em, and make 'em handsome; What's red and white, unless we do allow 'em? A green face else; and me-thinks such an other. _Ant._ Peace thou leud Heretick; Thou judge of beauties? Thou hast an excellent sense for a sign-post (Friend) Dost thou not see? I'll swear thou art soon blind else, As blind as ignorance; when she appeared first _Aurora_ breaking in the east, and through her face, As if the hours and graces had strew'd Roses, A blush of wonder flying; when she was frighted At our uncivil swords, didst thou not mark How far beyond the purity of snow The soft wind drives, whiteness of innocence, Or any thing that bears Celestial paleness, She appear'd o'th'sodain? Didst thou not see her tears When she intreated? O thou Reprobate! Didst thou not see those orient tears flow'd from her, The little Worlds of Love? A set (_Martine_) Of such sanctified Beads, and a holy heart to love I could live ever a Religious Hermite. _M[a]r._ I do believe a little, and yet methinks She was of the lowest stature.