_Ang_. Then we may walk. _Char_. And talk of any thing, any fit for your ears, and my language; though I was bred up dull, I was ever civil; 'tis true, I have found it hard to look on you, and not desire, 'twill prove a wise mans task; yet those desires I have so mingled still, and tempered with the quality of honour, that if you should yield, I should hate you for't. I am no Courtier of a light condition, apt to take fire at every beauteous face; that only serves his will and wantonness, and lets the serious part run by as thin neglected sand. Whiteness of name, you must be mine; why should I rob my self of that that lawfully must make me happy? why should I seek to cuckold my delights, and widow all those sweets I aim at in you? We'll lose our selves in _Venus_ Groves of Myrtle, where every little Bird shall be a _Cupid_, and sing of love and youth, each wind that blows, and curls the velvet-leaves, shall breed delights, the wanton Springs shall call us to their banks, and on the perfum'd flowers we'll feast our senses; yet we'll walk by untainted of their pleasures, and as they were pure Temples we'll talk in them. _Ang_. To bed, and pray then, we may have a fair end of our fair loves; would I were worthy of you, or of such parents that might give you thanks: But I am poor in all but in your love. Once more, good night. _Char_. A good night t'ye, and may the dew of sleep fall gently on you, sweet one, and lock up those fair lights in pleasing slumbers; no dreams but chaste and clear attempt your fancy, and break betimes sweet morn, I've lost my light else. _Ang_. Let it be ever night when I lose you. _Syl_. This Scholar never went to a Free-School, he's so simple. _Enter a_ Servant. _Serv_. Your Brother, with two Gallants, is at door, Sir, and they're so violent, they'll take no denial. _Ang_. This is no fit time of night. _Char_. Let 'em in, Mistris. _Serv_. They stay no leave; shall I raise the house on 'em? _Char_. Not a man, nor make no murmur oft I charge ye. _Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy. _Eust_. They're here, my Uncle absent, stand close to me. How do you, Brother, with your curious story? have you not read her yet sufficiently? _Char_. No, Brother, no; I stay yet in the Preface: the style's too hard for you. _Eust_. I must entreat her; she's parcel of my goods. _Char_. She's all when you have her. _Ang_. Hold off your hands, unmannerly, rude Sir; nor I, nor what I have depend on you. _Char_. Do, let her alone, she gives good counsel; do not trouble your self with Ladies, they are too light: Let out your Land, and get a provident Steward. _Ang_. I cannot love ye, let that satisfie you; such vanities as you, are to be laugh'd at. _Eust_. Nay, then you must go; I must claim mine own. _Both_. Away, away with her.