_Wild._ Faith, agreed with all my heart. For I am none of those unreasonable lovers, that propose to themselves the loving to eternity. The truth is, a month is commonly my stint; but, in that month, I love so dreadfully, that it is after a twelve-month's rate of common love. _Jac._ Or, would not a fortnight serve our turn? for, in troth, a month looks somewhat dismally; 'tis a whole Egyptian year. If a moon changes in my love, I shall think my Cupid grown dull, or fallen into an apoplexy. _Wild._ Well, I pray heaven we both get off as clear as we imagine; for my part, I like your humour so damnably well, that I fear I am in for a week longer than I proposed: I am half afraid your Spanish planet and my English one have been acquainted, and have found out some by-room or other in the twelve houses: I wish they have been honourable. _Jac._ The best way for both were to take up in time; yet I am afraid our forces are engaged so far, that we must make a battle on't. What think you of disobliging one another from this day forward; and shewing all our ill humours at the first, which lovers use to keep as a reserve, till they are married? _Wild._ Or let us encourage one another to a breach, by the dangers of possession: I have a song to that purpose. _Jac._ Pray let me hear it: I hope it will go to the tune of one of our _Passa-calles_. SONG. _You charmed me not with that fair face, Though it was all divine; To be another's is the grace, That makes me wish you mine. The gods and fortune take their part, Who, like young monarchs, fight, And boldly dare invade that heart, Which is another's right. First, mad with hope, we undertake To pull up every bar; But, once possessed, we faintly make A dull defensive war. Now, every friend is turned a foe, In hope to get our store: And passion make us cowards grow, Which made us brave before._ _Jac._ Believe it, cavalier, you are a dangerous person: Do you hold forth your gifts, in hopes to make me love you less? _Wild._ They would signify little, if we were once married: Those gaieties are all nipt and frost-bitten in the marriage-bed, i'faith. _Jac._ I am sorry to hear 'tis so cold a place: But 'tis all one to us, who do not mean to trouble it. The truth is, your humour pleases me exceedingly; how long it will do so, I know not; but so long as it does, I am resolved to give myself the content of seeing you. For, if I should once constrain myself, I might fall in love in good earnest: But I have stayed too long with you, and would be loth to surfeit you at first. _Wild._ Surfeit me madam? why, you have but tantalized me all this while! _Jac._ What would you have? _Wild._ A hand, or lip, or any thing that you can spare; when you have conjured up a spirit, he must have some employment, or he'll tear you apieces. _Jac._ Well, here's my picture, to help your contemplation in my absence.