_Kin._ Onelie my heart takes measure of thy beautie. _Sir quin._ Now by my hose I sweare, that’s no deepe oath, |855| This was a fine sweet earth-quake gentlie moou’d, By the soft winde of whispring Silkes: come Ladies, Whose ioynts are made out of the dauncing Orbes, Come, follow me, walke a colde measure now; In the Brides Chamber; your hot beautie’s melt, |860| Take euerie one her fan, giue them their places, And waue the Northerne winde vpon your faces. _Cælestine and all the Ladyes doing obeysance to the King, who onely kisses her, Exeunt, Shorthose manning them, the Gallants stand aloofe._ _Kin._ Sir Walter Terrill. |865| _Ter._ My confirmed Leige. _Ki._ Beautie out of her bountie, thee hath lent, More then her owne with liberall extent. _Ter._ What meanes my Lord? _Kin._ Thy Bride, thy choice, thy wife, |870| She that is now thy fadom, thy new world, That brings thee people, and makes little subiects; Kneele at thy feete, obay in euerie thing, So euerie Father is a priuate King. _Ter._ My Lord, her beauty is the poorest part, |875| Chieflie her vertues did endowe my heart. _Kin._ Doe not back-bite her beauties, they all shine, Brighter on thee, because the beames are thine, To thee more faire, to others her two lips Shew like a parted Moone in thine Eclipse; |880| That glaunce, which louers mongst themselues deuise, Walkes as inuisible to others eies: Giue me thine eare. _Cri._ What meanes the King? _Dem._ Tis a quaint straine. |885| _Ter._ My Lord. _King._ Thou darst not Wat. _Ter._ She is too course an obiect for the Court. _Kin._ Thou darst not _W_at: let to night be to morrow. _Ter._ For shee’s not yet mine owne. |890| _Kin._ Thou darst not Wat? _Ter._ My Lord I dare, but---- _King._ But I see thou darst not. _Ter._ This night. _King._ Yea, this night, tush thy minde repaires not, |895| The more thou talk’st of night, the more thou darst not; Thus farre I tend, I wod but turne this spheare, Of Ladies eyes, and place it in the Court, Where thy faire Bride should for the Zodiacke shine, And euery Lady else sit for a signe. |900| But all thy thoughts are yellow, thy sweet bloud Rebels, th’art iealous Wat; thus with proude reuels To emmulate the masking firmament, Where Starres dance in the siluer Hall of heauen, Thy pleasure should be seasoned, and thy bed |905| Relish thy Bride, But, but thou darst not Wat. _Ter._ My Loord I dare. _Kin._ Speake that agen. _Ter._ I dare. _King._ Agen kinde Wat, and then I know thou darst.