_Emil._ Canst not thou work such Flowers in Silk wench? _Wom._ Yes. _Emil._ I'll have a Gown full of 'em, and of these, This is a pretty colour, wil't not do Rarely upon a skirt wench? _Wom._ Dainty Madam. _Arc._ Cosin, Cosin, how do you, Sir? Why _Palamon_? _Pal._ Never till now, I was in prison _Arcite_. _Arc._ Why, what's the matter man? _Pal._ Behold, and wonder. By heaven she is a Goddess. _Arcite._ Ha. _Pal._ Do reverence. She is a Goddess _Arcite_. _Emil._ Of all Flowers, Methinks a Rose is best. _Wom._ Why gentle Madam? _Emil._ It is the very Emblem of a Maid. For when the West wind courts her gently How modestly she blows, and paints the Sun, With her chaste blushes! When the North comes near her, Rude and impatient, then like Chastity She locks her beauties in her bud again, And leaves him to base briers. _Wom._ Yet good Madam, Sometimes her modesty will blow so far She falls for't: a Maid If she have any honor, would be loth To take example by her. _Emil._ Thou art wanton. _Arc._ She is wondrous fair. _Pal._ She is all the beauty extant. _Emil._ The Sun grows high, let's walk in, keep these flowers, We'll see how near Art can come near their colours; I'm wondrous merry-hearted, I could laugh now. _Wom._ I could lie down I am sure. _Emil._ And take one with you? _Wom._ That's as we bargain, Madam. _Emil._ Well, agree then. [_Exeunt_ Emilia _and Woman_. _Pal._ What think you of this beauty? _Arc._ 'Tis a rare one. _Pal._ Is't but a rare one? _Arc._ Yes, a matchless beauty. _Pal._ Might not a man well lose himself, and love her? _Arc._ I cannot tell what you have done, I have, Beshrew mine eyes for't, now I feel my Shackles. _Pal._ You love her then? _Arc._ Who would not? _Pal._ And desire her? _Arc._ Before my liberty. _Pal._ I saw her first. _Arc._ That's nothing. _Pal._ But it shall be. _Arc._ I saw her too. _Pal._ Yes, but you must not love her. _Arc._ I will not as you do; to worship her; As she is heavenly, and a blessed goddess; (I love her as a woman, to enjoy her) So both may love. _Pal._ You shall not love at all. _Arc._ Not love at all; Who shall denie me? _Pal._ I that first saw her; I that took possession First with mine eye of all those beauties In her reveal'd to mankind: if thou lov'st her; Or entertain'st a hope to blast my wishes, Thou art a Traitor _Arcite_, and a fellow False as thy Title to her: friendship, bloud And all the ties between us I disclai[m] If thou once think upon her.