_Lo._ You cannot please me better. _Cel._ Y'are a Lord Borne with as much nobilitie as would Divided serve to make ten noble men Without a Herald, but with so much spirit, And height of soule, as well might furnish twenty. You are learnd, a thing not compatible now With native honour, and are master of A language that doth chaine all yeares, and charme All hearts, where you perswade, a wit so flowing And prudence to correct it, that all men Beleeve they onely meete in you, which with A spacious memory make up the full wonders; To these you have knowne valour, and upon A noble cause, know how to use a sword To honors best advantage, though you were none; You are as bountifull, as the showers that fall Into the Springs greene bosome; as you were Created Lord of fortune, not her steward; So constant to the cause, in which you make Your selfe an advocate, you dare all dangers, And men had rather you should be their friend, Than justice or the bench, bound up together. _Lor._ But did you heare all this. _Cel._ And more my Lord. _Lor._ Pray let me have it Madam. _Cel._ To all these vertues, there is added one, (Your Lordship will remember when I name it, I speake but what I gather from the voyce Of others) it is growne to a full fame That you have lov'd a woman. _Lo._ But one Madam? _Cel._ Yes many, give me leave to smile my Lord, I shall not neede to interpret in what sence, But you have shewd your selfe right honorable, And for your love to Ladies have deserv'd, If their vote might prevaile a marble statue, I make no comment on the peoples text. My Lord I should be sorry to offend. _Lor._ You cannot Madam, these are things we owe To nature for. _Cel._ And honest men will pay Their debts. _Lo._ If they be able, or compound. _Cel._ She had a hard heart, would be unmercifull, And not give day to men so promising, But you ow'd women nothing. _Lo._ Yes I am Still in their debt, and I must owe them love, It was part of my character. _Cel._ With your Lordships Pardon I onely said, you had a fame For loving women, but of late men say You have against the imperiall lawes of love, Restraind the active flowings of your bloud, And with a Mistris buried all that is Hop'd for in loves succession, as all beauty Had died with her, and left the world benighted! In this you more dishonor all our sexe Than you did grace a part, when every where Love tempts your eye to admire a glorious harvest, And every where as full blowne eares submit Their golden heads, the laden trees bow downe Their willing fruit, and court your amorous tasting.