_Trick._ That he should be so silly to imagine I would go into a nunnery! it is likely; I have much nun's flesh about me. But here comes my gentleman. _Enter_ WOODALL, _not seeing her._ _Wood._ Now the wife's returned, and the daughter too, and I have seen them both, and am more distracted than before: I would enjoy all, and have not yet determined with which I should begin. It is but a kind of clergy-covetousness in me, to desire so many; if I stand gaping after pluralities, one of them is in danger to be made a _sine cure_--[_Sees her._] O, fortune has determined for me. It is just here, as it is in the world; the mistress will be served before the wife. _Trick._ How now, sir, are you rehearsing your _lingua Franca_ by yourself, that you walk so pensively? _Wood._ No faith, madam, I was thinking of the fair lady, who, at parting, bespoke so cunningly of me all my essences. _Trick._ But there are other beauties in the house; and I should be impatient of a rival: for I am apt to be partial to myself, and think I deserve to be preferred before them. _Wood._ Your beauty will allow of no competition; and I am sure my love could make none. _Trick._ Yes, you have seen Mrs Brainsick; she's a beauty. _Wood._ You mean, I suppose, the peaking creature, the married woman, with a sideling look, as if one cheek carried more bias than the other? _Trick._ Yes, and with a high nose, as visible as a land-mark. _Wood._ With one cheek blue, the other red; just like the covering of Lambeth Palace. _Trick._ Nay, but her legs, if you could see them-- _Wood._ She was so foolish to wear short petticoats, and show them. They are pillars, gross enough to support a larger building; of the Tuscan order, by my troth. _Trick._ And her little head, upon that long neck, shows like a traitor's skull upon a pole. Then, for her wit-- _Wood._ She can have none: There's not room enough for a thought to play in. _Trick._ I think indeed I may safely trust you with such charms; and you have pleased me with your description of her. _Wood._ I wish you would give me leave to please you better. But you transact as gravely with me as a Spaniard; and are losing love, as he does Flanders: you consider and demur, when the monarch is up in arms, and at your gates[6]. _Trick._ But to yield upon the first summons, ere you have laid a formal siege--To-morrow may prove a luckier day to you. _Wood._ Believe me, madam, lovers are not to trust to-morrow. Love may die upon our hands, or opportunity be wanting; 'tis best securing the present hour. _Trick._ No, love's like fruit; it must have time to ripen on the tree; if it be green gathered, 'twill but wither afterwards. _Wood._ Rather 'tis like gun powder; that which fires quickest, is commonly the strongest.--By this burning kiss--