_Are_. Run thy self into the presence, mingle there again With other Ladies, leave the rest to me: If destiny (to whom we dare not say, Why thou didst this) have not decreed it so In lasting leaves (whose smallest Characters Were never altered:) yet, this match shall break. Where's the boy? _La_. Here Madam. [ _Enter _Bellario. _Are_. Sir, you are sad to change your service, is't not so? _Bell_. Madam, I have not chang'd; I wait on you, To do him service. _Are_. Thou disclaim'st in me; Tell me thy name. _Bell_. _Bellario_. _Are_. Thou canst sing, and play? _Bell_. If grief will give me leave, Madam, I can. _Are_. Alas! what kind of grief can thy years know? Hadst thou a curst master, when thou went'st to School? Thou art not capable of other grief; Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be, When no [b]reath troubles them: believe me boy, Care seeks out wrinkled brows, and hollow eyes, And builds himself caves to abide in them. Come Sir, tell me truly, does your Lord love me? _Bell_. Love Madam? I know not what it is. _Are_. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew'st love? Thou art deceiv'd boy; does he speak of me As if he wish'd me well? _Bell_. If it be love, To forget all respect of his own friends, In thinking of your face; if it be love To sit cross arm'd and sigh away the day, Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud And hastily, as men i'the streets do fire: If it be love to weep himself away, When he but hears of any Lady dead, Or kill'd, because it might have been your chance; If when he goes to rest (which will not be) 'Twixt every prayer he saies, to name you once As others drop a bead, be to be in love; Then Madam, I dare swear he loves you. _Are_. O y'are a cunning boy, and taught to lie, For your Lords credit; but thou knowest, a lie, That bears this sound, is welcomer to me, Than any truth that saies he loves me not. Lead the way Boy: Do you attend me too; 'Tis thy Lords business hasts me thus; Away. [_Exeunt_. _Enter _Dion, Cleremont, Thrasilin, Megra _and _Galatea. _Di_. Come Ladies, shall we talk a round? As men Do walk a mile, women should take an hour After supper: 'Tis their exercise. _Gal_. Tis late.