Ile begin with A. and so proceed to the latter end of the Alphabet, comparing his good parts as thus: for A. hee is Amiable, Bountifull, Courteous, Diligent, Eloquent, Faithfull, Gracious, Humble, Iouiall, Kind, Louing, Magnanimous, Noble, Patient, Quiet, Royall, Secret, Trustie, Vigilant, Wittie, and Xceeding Youthfull. Now for Z, he’s zealous: so I conclude, pray God hee bee not Iealous. _Le._ An excellent obseruation. _Lor._ Who doe you think’s in loue with you? The old Dragon _Nicanor_, that watches the fruit of your _Hesperides_. _Le._ Oh, that newes is stale. _Lor._ He met but iust now, and would needs know, What returne I had made of his Aduenture. But I deuised such a Tale for my old Marchant, Able to make a Bankrout at report, But he notwithstanding fraughts me agen, With that he was not able, but with this, This Chaine of Pearle. _Le._ Prethee, away with it, Ile not be chain’d to him. _Lor._ Faith, and ’tis true, a Chaine is the worst Gift A Louer can send his Mistris, ’tis such an Embleme Of bondage hereafter. Who’s that? _Enter_ LISANDRO. _Le._ Father. _Lis._ How fares my worthy Daughter? _Le._ Eu’n as one Deuoted vnto sorrow, griefe and mone. _Lis._ Then I must blame you, Ladie, you doe ill, To blast those Rosiall blossomes. Will you kill This gift of Nature, Beautie in the prime? _Le._ Father, I vnderstand not what you say: The other day you talkt of Penitence, Commended Patience, Sorrow and Contrition, As Antidotes against the soules decay: And now, me thinkes, you speake of no such thing. _Lis._ Mistake me not, deare Daughter, I spake then, Onely to mortifie the sinfull minde, But now I come with comfort, to restore Your fainting spirits that were grieu’d before: But Daughter, I must chide you. _Le._ Father, why? _Lis._ For your neglect, and too much crueltie To one that dearely loues you. _Le._ Whom in the name of wonder? _Lor._ On my life, This Frier’s made an agent in my suit. _Lis._ The hope of Sicill, Map of true Nobilitie, Patterne of Wisdome, Grace and Grauitie. _Le._ You prayse him highly, ha’s he ne’r a name? _Lis._ Yes, is’t my Lord _Nicanor_. _Le._ Oh, is’t he? His gray head shewes his wisdomes grauitie: And are you made his Agent, His Aduocate, to play the spokesman? Fie. _Lis._ Daughter, this is a worke of Charitie, A holy action to combine in one: Two different hearts in holy Vnion. _Le._ Frier, no more. I doe not like of these perswasions, Either ya’re not the same you seeme to be, Or all your Actions are Hypocrisie, My Faith is past alreadie, and my heart Ingag’d vnto a farre more worthy man: _Lisandro_ is the Prince my loue hath wonne. _Lis._ Then here the Frier concludes: my taske is done. _Le._ _Lisandro_, my deare Loue! _Lis._ The same, sweet Princesse.