FAL. Ay, long since, perhaps; But now that sense is alter'd: you would have me, Like to a puddle, or a standing pool, To have no motion nor no spirit within me. No. I am like a pure and sprightly river, That moves for ever, and yet still the same; Or fire, that burns much wood, yet still one flame. DELI. But yesterday, I saw thee at our garden, Smelling on roses, and on purple flowers; And since, I hope, the humour of thy sense Is nothing changed. FAL. Why, those were growing flowers, And these within my walk are cut and strewed. DELI. But yet they have one scent. FAL. Ay! have they so? In your gross judgment. If you make no difference Betwixt the scent of growing flowers and cut ones, You have a sense to taste lamp oil, i'faith: And with such judgment have you changed the chambers, Leaving no room, that I can joy to be in, In all your house; and now my walk, and all, You smoke me from, as if I were a fox, And long, belike, to drive me quite away: Well, walk you there, and I'll walk where I list. DELI. What shall I do? O, I shall never please her. MACI. Out on thee, dotard! what star ruled his birth, That brought him such a Star? blind Fortune still Bestows her gifts on such as cannot use them: How long shall I live, ere I be so happy To have a wife of this exceeding form? [ASIDE. DELI. Away with 'em! would I had broke a joint When I devised this, that should so dislike her. Away, bear all away. [EXIT FIDO, WITH FLOWERS, ETC. FAL. Ay, do; for fear Aught that is there should like her. O, this man, How cunningly he can conceal himself, As though he loved, nay, honour'd and ador'd! -- DELI. Why, my sweet heart? FAL. Sweet heart! O, better still! And asking, why? wherefore? and looking strangely, As if he were as white as innocence! Alas, you're simple, you: you cannot change, Look pale at pleasure, and then red with wonder; No, no, not you! 'tis pity o' your naturals. I did but cast an amorous eye, e'en now, Upon a pair of gloves that somewhat liked me, And straight he noted it, and gave command All should be ta'en away. DELI. Be they my bane then! What, sirrah, Fido, bring in those gloves again You took from hence. FAL. 'Sbody, sir, but do not: Bring in no gloves to spite me; if you do -- DELI. Ay me, most wretched; how am I misconstrued! MACI. O, how she tempts my heart-strings with her eye, To knit them to her beauties, or to break! What mov'd the heavens, that they could not make Me such a woman! but a man, a beast, That hath no bliss like others? Would to heaven, In wreak of my misfortunes, I were turn'd To some fair water-nymph, that set upon The deepest whirl-pit of the rav'nous seas, My adamantine eyes might headlong hale This iron world to me, and drown it all.