_Fri._ I know your serious disposition well. Come, sonne, the morne comes on. _Buss._ Now, honour'd mistresse, Till farther service call, all blisse supply you! 60 _Tam._ And you this chaine of pearle, and my love onely! _Descendit Frier and D'Amb[ois]._ It is not I, but urgent destiny That (as great states-men for their generall end In politique justice make poore men offend) Enforceth my offence to make it just. 65 What shall weak dames doe, when th' whole work of Nature Hath a strong finger in each one of us? Needs must that sweep away the silly cobweb Of our still-undone labours, that layes still Our powers to it, as to the line, the stone, 70 Not to the stone, the line should be oppos'd. We cannot keepe our constant course in vertue: What is alike at all parts? every day Differs from other, every houre and minute; I, every thought in our false clock of life 75 Oft times inverts the whole circumference: We must be sometimes one, sometimes another. Our bodies are but thick clouds to our soules, Through which they cannot shine when they desire. When all the starres, and even the sunne himselfe, 80 Must stay the vapours times that he exhales Before he can make good his beames to us, O how can we, that are but motes to him, Wandring at random in his ordered rayes, Disperse our passions fumes, with our weak labours, 85 That are more thick and black than all earths vapours? _Enter Mont[surry]._ _Mont._ Good day, my love! what, up and ready too! _Tam._ Both (my deare lord): not all this night made I My selfe unready, or could sleep a wink. _Mont._ Alas, what troubled my true love, my peace, 90 From being at peace within her better selfe? Or how could sleepe forbeare to seize thine eyes, When he might challenge them as his just prise? _Tam._ I am in no powre earthly, but in yours. To what end should I goe to bed, my lord, 95 That wholly mist the comfort of my bed? Or how should sleepe possesse my faculties, Wanting the proper closer of mine eyes? _Mont._ Then will I never more sleepe night from thee: All mine owne businesse, all the Kings affaires, 100 Shall take the day to serve them; every night Ile ever dedicate to thy delight. _Tam._ Nay, good my lord, esteeme not my desires Such doters on their humours that my judgement Cannot subdue them to your worthier pleasure: 105 A wives pleas'd husband must her object be In all her acts, not her sooth'd fantasie. _Mont._ Then come, my love, now pay those rites to sleepe Thy faire eyes owe him: shall we now to bed?