_Gal_. Full being! I understand you not, unless your Grace means growing to fatness; and then your only remedy (upon my knowledge, Prince) is in a morning a Cup of neat White-wine brew'd with _Carduus_, then fast till supper, about eight you may eat; use exercise, and keep a Sparrow-hawk, you can shoot in a Tiller; but of all, your Grace must flie _Phlebotomie_, fresh Pork, Conger, and clarified Whay; They are all dullers of the vital spirits. _Pha_. Lady, you talk of nothing all this while. _Gal_. 'Tis very true Sir, I talk of you. _Pha_. This is a crafty wench, I like her wit well, 'twill be rare to stir up a leaden appetite, she's a _Danae_, and must be courted in a showr of gold. Madam, look here, all these and more, than-- _Gal_. What have you there, my Lord? Gold? Now, as I live tis fair gold; you would have silver for it to play with the Pages; you could not have taken me in a worse time; But if you have present use my Lord, I'le send my man with silver and keep your gold for you. _Pha_. Lady, Lady. _Gal_. She's coming Sir behind, will take white mony. Yet for all this I'le match ye. [_Exit_ Gal. _behind the hangings_. _Pha_. If there be two such more in this Kingdom, and near the Court, we may even hang up our Harps: ten such _Camphire_ constitutions as this, would call the golden age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill fac't Husband to get his own Children, and what a mischief that will breed, let all consider. [ _Enter_ Megra. Here's another; if she be of the same last, the Devil shall pluck her on. Many fair mornings, Lady. _Meg_. As many mornings bring as many dayes, Fair, sweet, and hopeful to your Grace. _Pha_. She gives good words yet; Sure this wench is free. If your more serious business do not call you, Let me hold quarter with you, we'll take an hour Out quickly. _Meg_. What would your Grace talk of? _Pha_. Of some such pretty subject as your self. I'le go no further than your eye, or lip, There's theme enough for one man for an age. _Meg_. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even, Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, red enough, Or my glass wrongs me.