_Sold._ Oh my Sister, I would not out o'th' way, let fall my words Lady, For the precisest humor. _Enter passionate Lord._ _Pas._ Yea, so close. _Sold._ Th'are merry, that's the worst you can report on 'em: Th'are neither dangerous, nor immodest. _Pas._ So Sir, Shall I believe you, think you? _Sold._ Who's this Lady? _La._ Oh the Dukes Cosin, he came late from travel, Sir. _Sold._ Respect belongs to him. _Pas._ For as I said, Lady, Th'are merry, that's the worst you can report of 'em: Th'are neither dangerous, nor immodest. _Sold._ How's this? _Pas._ And there I think I left. _Sold._ Abuses me. _Pas._ Now to proceed, Lady; perhaps I swore I lov'd you, If you believe me not, y'are much the wiser. _Sold._ He speaks still in my person, and derides me. _Pas._ For I can cog with you. _La._ You can all do so: We make no question of mens promptness that way. _Pas._ And smile, and wave a chair with comely grace too, Play with our Tastle gently, and do fine things, That catch a Lady sooner than a virtue. _Sold._ I never us'd to let man live so long That wrong'd me. _Pas._ Talk of Battalions, wooe you in a skirmish; Divine my mind to you Lady; and being sharp set, Can court you at Half pike: or name your weapon, We cannot fail you Lady. _Enter 1 Gentleman._ _Sold._ Now he dies: Were all succeeding hopes stor'd up within him. _1 Gent._ Oh fie, i'th' Court, Sir? _Sold._ I most dearly thank you; Sir. _1 Gent._ 'Tis rage ill spent upon a passionate mad man. _Sold._ That shall not priviledge him for ever, Sir: A mad man call you him? I have found too much reason Sound in his injury to me, to believe him so. _1 Gent._ If ever truth from mans lips may be held In reputation with you, give this confidence; And this his Love-fit, which we observe still, By's flattering and his fineness: at some other time, He'll go as slovenly as heart can wish. The love and pity that his Highness shews to him, Makes every man the more respectful of him: Has never a passion, but is well provided for, As this of Love, he is full fed in all His swinge, as I may tearm it: have but patience, And ye shall witness somewhat. _Sold._ Still he mocks me: Look you, in action, in behaviour, Sir; Hold still the chair, with a grand mischief to you, Or I'll let so much strength upon your heart, Sir-- _Pas._ I feel some power has restrain'd me Lady: If it be sent from Love, say, I obey it, And ever keep a voice to welcome it. SONG.