_Bian._ Without breach then Of modesty I come to claime the Interest Your protestations, both by vows and letters, Have made me owner of: from the first hour I saw you, I confess I wisht I had been Or not so much below your rank and greatness, Or not so much above those humble flames That should have warm'd my bosome with a temperate Equality of desires in equal fortunes. Still as you utter'd Language of affection, I courted time to pass more slowly on That I might turn more fool to lend attention To what I durst not credit, nor yet hope for: Yet still as more I heard, I wisht to hear more. _Ces._ Didst thou introth wench? _Bian._ Willingly betraid My self to hopeless bondage. _Ces._ A good girl, I thought I should not miss What ere thy answer was. _Biancha._ But as I am a maid Sir, and I'faith You may believe me, for I am a maid, So dearly I respected both your fame And quality, that I would first have perisht In my sick thoughts than ere have given consent To have undone your fortunes by inviting A marriage with so mean an one as I am. I should have dyed sure, and no creature known The sickness that had kill'd me. _Ces._ Pretty heart, good Soul, alas, alas. _Bian._ Now since I know There is no difference 'twixt your birth and mine, Not much 'twixt our estates, if any be, The advantage is on my side, I come willingly To tender you the first fruits of my heart, And am content t'accept you for my husband, Now when you are at lowest. _Ces._ For a husband? Speak sadly, dost thou mean so? _Bian._ In good deed Sir, 'Tis pure love makes this proffer. _Ces._ I believe thee, What counsail urg'd thee on, tell me, thy Father My worshipfull smug Host? wast not he wench? Or mother Hostess? ha? _Bian._ D'ee mock my parentage? I doe not scorn yours. Mean folks are as worthy To be well spoken of if they deserve well, As some whose onely fame lies in their blood, O y'are a proud poor man: all your oaths falshood, Your vows deceit, your letters forg'd, and wicked. _Ces._ Thou'dst be my wife, I dare swear. _Bian._ Had your heart, Your hand and tongue been twins, you had reputed This courtesy a benefit. _Ces._ Simplicity, How prettily thou mov'st me! why _Biancha_, Report has coz'ned thee, I am not fallen From my expected honors, or possessions, Though from the hope of birthright. _Bian._ Are you not? Then I am lost again, I have a suit too; You'll grant it if you be a good man. _Ces._ Any thing. _Bian._ Pray doe not talk of ought what I have said t'ee. _Ces._ As I wish health I will not. _Bian._ Pitty me, but never love me more. _Ces._ Nay now y'are cruell, Why all these tears?--Thou shalt not go.