Iul. And yet I would I had ore-look'd the Letter; It were a shame to call her backe againe, And pray her to a fault, for which I chid her. What 'foole is she, that knowes I am a Maid, And would not force the letter to my view? Since Maides, in modesty, say no, to that, Which they would haue the profferer construe, I. Fie, fie: how way-ward is this foolish loue; That (like a testie Babe) will scratch the Nurse, And presently, all humbled kisse the Rod? How churlishly, I chid Lucetta hence, When willingly, I would haue had her here? How angerly I taught my brow to frowne, When inward ioy enforc'd my heart to smile? My pennance is, to call Lucetta backe And aske remission, for my folly past. What hoe: Lucetta Lu. What would your Ladiship? Iul. Is't neere dinner time? Lu. I would it were, That you might kill your stomacke on your meat, And not vpon your Maid Iu. What is't that you Tooke vp so gingerly? Lu. Nothing Iu. Why didst thou stoope then? Lu. To take a paper vp, that I let fall Iul. And is that paper nothing? Lu. Nothing concerning me Iul. Then let it lye, for those that it concernes Lu. Madam, it will not lye where it concernes, Vnlesse it haue a false Interpreter Iul. Some loue of yours, hath writ to you in Rime Lu. That I might sing it (Madam) to a tune: Giue me a Note, your Ladiship can set Iul. As little by such toyes, as may be possible: Best sing it to the tune of Light O, Loue Lu. It is too heauy for so light a tune Iu. Heauy? belike it hath some burden then? Lu. I: and melodious were it, would you sing it, Iu. And why not you? Lu. I cannot reach so high Iu. Let's see your Song: How now Minion? Lu. Keepe tune there still; so you will sing it out: And yet me thinkes I do not like this tune Iu. You doe not? Lu. No (Madam) tis too sharpe Iu. You (Minion) are too saucie Lu. Nay, now you are too flat; And marre the concord, with too harsh a descant: There wanteth but a Meane to fill your Song Iu. The meane is dround with you vnruly base Lu. Indeede I bid the base for Protheus Iu. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me; Here is a coile with protestation: Goe, get you gone: and let the papers lye: You would be fingring them, to anger me Lu. She makes it stra[n]ge, but she would be best pleas'd To be so angred with another Letter