_Blu._ To prooue that best, by strong and armed reason, |1810| Whose part reason feares to take, cannot but prooue, Your wit’s fine temper, and from these win loue. _Min._ I promise you has almost conuerted me, I pray bring forward your bald reasons M. Poet. _Cri._ Mistris you giue my Reasons proper names, |1815| For Arguments (like Children) should be like, The subiect that begets them; I must striue To crowne _Bald heades_, therefore must baldlie thriue; But be it as it can: To what before, Went arm’d at table, this force bring I more, |1820| If a _Bare head_ (being like a dead-mans scull) Should beare vp no praise els but this, it sets Our end before our eyes; should I dispaire, From giuing _Baldnes_ higher place then haire? _Mini._ Nay perdie, haire has the higher place. |1825| _Cri._ The goodliest & most glorious strange-built wonder, Which that great Architect hath made, is heauen; For there he keepes his Court, It is his Kingdome, That’s his best Master-piece; yet tis the roofe, And Seeling of the world: that may be cal’d |1830| The head or crowne of Earth, and yet that’s balde, All creatures in it balde; the louely _Sunne_, Has a face sleeke as golde; the full-cheekt _Moone_, As bright and smooth as siluer: nothing there Weares dangling lockes, but sometime blazing Starres, |1835| Whose flaming curles, set realmes on fire with warres. Descend more low; looke through mans fiue-folde sence, Of all, the _Eye_, beares greatest eminence; And yet that’s balde, the haires that like a lace, Are sticht vnto the liddes, borrow those formes, |1840| Like Pent-houses to saue the eyes from stormes. _Sir Adam._ Right, well said. _Cris._ A head and face ore-growne with Shaggie drosse, O, tis an Orient pearle hid all in Mosse, But when the head’s all naked and vncrown’d, |1845| It is the worlds _Globe_, euen, smooth and round; _Baldnes_ is natures But, at which our life, Shootes her last Arrow: what man euer lead His age out with a staffe, but had a head Bare and vncouer’d? hee whose yeares doe rise, |1850| To their full height, yet not balde, is not wise. The _Head_ is Wisedomes house, _Haire_ but the thatch, _Haire_? It’s the basest stubble; in scorne of it, This Prouerbe sprung, _he has more haire then wit_: Marke you not in derision how we call, |1855| A head growne thicke with haire, _Bush-naturall_? _Min._ By your leaue (Master Poet) but that Bush-naturall, is one a the trimmest, and most intanglingst beautie in a woman. _Cris._ Right, but beleeue this (_pardon me most faire_) You would haue much more wit, had you lesse haire: |1860| I could more wearie you to tell the proofes, (As they passe by) which fight on _Baldnes_ side, Then were you taskt to number on a head, The haires: I know not how your thoughts are lead, On this strong Tower shall my opinion rest, |1865| _Heades thicke of haire are goode, but balde the best_.