_The young one, the old one, the fearful, the bold one,_ _the lame one, though nere so unsound,_ _The Jew or the Turk, have leave for to work,_ _the whilst that the Mill goes round._ _Otr._ You are a common thing then. _Flo._ No matter since you have your private pleasure, And have it by an Artist excellent, Whether I am thus, or thus, your men can tell ye. _Otr._ My Men? Defend me, how I freeze together, And am on Ice! do I bite at such an Orange After my men? I am preferr'd. _Flo._ Why stay ye? Why do we talk my Lord, and lose our time? Pleasure was made for lips, and sweet embraces, Let Lawyers use their tongues: pardon [me] Modesty, This desperate way must help; or I am miserable. _Otr._ She turns, and wipes her face, she weeps for certain, Some new way now, she cannot be thus beastly, She is too excellent fair to be thus impudent: She knows the elements of common looseness, The art of lewdness: that, that, that, how now, Sir? _Enter a servant._ _Ser._ The King (and't please your Lordship) is alighted Close at the gate. _Otr._ The King? _Ser._ And calls for ye Sir. Means to break-fast here too. _Flo._ Then I am happy. _Otr._ Stol'n so suddenly? go lock her up. Lock her up where the Courtiers may not see her, Lock her up closely, sirrah, in my closet. _Ser._ I will (my Lord) what does she yield yet? [_Exit._ _Otr._ Peace: She is either a damn'd divel, or an Angel, No noise (upon your life Dame) but all silence. _Enter King, Lords_, Vertigo, Lisauro, Terso. _Otr._ Your Majesty heaps too much honor on me, With such delight to view each several corner Of a rude pile: there's no proportion in't, Sir. _Phil._ Me-thinks 'tis handsome, and the rooms along Are neat, and well contriv'd: the Gallery Stands pleasantly and sweet: what rooms are these? _Otr._ They are sluttish ones. _Phil._ Nay, I must see. _Otr._ Pray ye do Sir, They are lodging-chambers over a homely garden. _Phil._ Fit still, and handsome; very well: and those? _Otr._ Those lead to the other side o'th' house, and't like ye. _Phil._ Let me see those. _Otr._ Ye may, the dores are open. What would this view mean? I am half suspitious. _Phil._ This little Room? _Otr._ 'Tis mean: a place for trash Sir, For rubbish of the house. _Phil._ I would see this too: I will see all. _Otr._ I beseech your Majesty, The savor of it, and the course appearance. _Phil._ 'Tis not so bad, you would not offend your house with it, Come, let me see. _Otr._ Faith Sir. _Phil._ I'faith I will see. _Otr._ My Groom has the key Sir, and 'tis ten to one--