_Charl._ The boy is jealo[u]s, sweet lad leave us: my Lady call'd for you I swear: that's a good child, there's a piece of Gold for thee, go buy a Feather. _Ver._ There's two pieces for you, do you go and buy one, or what you will, or nothing, so you go. Nay then I see you would have me go, Sir; why, I'faith I will, now I perceive you love her better than you do me; but [God] bless you whatever you do, or intend, I know you are a very honest man. [_Exit._ _Charl._ Still [shall] I wooe thee, whilst thy ears reply I cannot, or I will not marry thee? Why hast thou drawn the bloud out of my cheeks, And given a quicker motion to my heart? Oh thou hast bred a Feaver in my veins Call'd love, which no Physitian can cure; Have mercy on a Maid, whose simple youth-- _Mont._ How your example, fairest, teacheth me A ceremonious Idolatry! [_Kneels._ By all the joy of love, I love thee better, Than I or any man can tell another; And will express the mercy which thou crav'st, I will forbear to marry thee: consider Thou art Nature's heir in feature, and thy parents, In fair Inheritances; rise with these thoughts, And look on me; but with a womans eye, A decaid fellow, void of means and spirit. _Charl._ Of spirit? _Mont._ Yes, could I tamely live, Forget my Fathers bloud, wait, and make legs, Stain my best breeches, with the servile drops That fall from others draughts. _Charl._ This vizard wherewith thou wouldst hide thy spirit, Is perspective, to shew it plainlier. This undervalue of thy life, is but Because I should not buy thee, what more speaks Greatness of man, than valiant patience, That shrinks not under his fates strongest strokes? These _Roman_ deaths, as falling on a sword, Opening of veins, with poison quenching thirst, (Which we erroneously do stile the deeds Of the heroick and magnanimous man) Was dead-ey'd cowardize, and white-cheek'd fear, Who doubting tyranny, and fainting under Fortunes false Lottery, desperately run To death, for dread of death; that soul's most stout, That bearing all mischance, dares last it out; Will you perform your word, and marry me, When I shall call you to't? _Enter_ Longueville _with a riding-rod_. _Mont._ I'faith I will. _Charl._ Who's this alights here? _Long._ With leave, fair creature, are you the Lady Mistriss of the house? _Charl._ Her servant, Sir. _Long._ I pray then favour me, to inform your Lady, and Duke _Orleans_ wife, A business of import awaits 'em here, And craves for speedy answer. _Charl._ Are you in post, Sir? _Long._ No, I am in Satin, Lady; I would you would be in post. _Charl._ I will return, Sweet. [_Exit._