_Rose._ And see, madam, where your true knight, Sir Martin, is placed yonder like Apollo, with his lute in his hand, and his rays about his head. [SIR MARTIN _appears at the adverse window; a tune is played; when it is done_, WARNER _rings, and_ SIR MARTIN _holds_.] Did he not play most excellently, Madam? _Mill._ He played well, and yet methinks he held his lute but untowardly. _Rose._ Dear madam, peace; now for the song. THE SONG[B]. _Blind love, to this hour, Had never, like me, a slave under his power: Then blest be the dart, That he threw at my heart; For nothing can prove A joy so great, as to be wounded with love. My days, and my nights, Are filled to the purpose with sorrows and frights: From my heart still I sigh, And my eyes are ne'er dry; So that, Cupid be praised, I am to the top of love's happiness raised. My soul's all on fire, So that I have the pleasure to doat and desire: Such a pretty soft pain, That it tickles each vein; 'Tis the dream of a smart, Which makes me breathe short, when it beats at my heart. Sometimes, in a pet, When I am despised, I my freedom would get: But strait a sweet smile Does my anger beguile, And my heart does recal; Then the more I do struggle, the lower I fall. Heaven does not impart Such a grace, as to love, unto every ones heart; For many may wish To be wounded, and miss: Then blest be loves fire, And more blest her eyes, that first taught me desire._ _The Song being done_, WARNER _rings again; but_ SIR MARTIN _continues fumbling, and gazing on his Mistress_. _Mill._ A pretty humoured song. But stay, methinks he plays and sings still, and yet we cannot hear him. Play louder, Sir Martin, that we may have the fruits on't. _Warn._ [_Peeping_.] Death! this abominable fool will spoil all again. Damn him, he stands making his grimaces yonder; and he looks so earnestly upon his mistress, that he hears me not. [_Rings again._ _Mill._ Ah, ah! have I found you out, sir? Now, as I live and breathe, this is pleasant: Rose, his man played and sung for him, and he, it seems, did not know when he should give over. [MILL. _and_ ROSE _laugh_. _Warn._ They have found him out, and laugh yonder, as if they would split their sides. Why, Mr Fool, Oaf, Coxcomb, will you hear none of your names? _Mill._ Sir Martin, Sir Martin, take your man's counsel, and keep time with your music. _Sir Mart._ [_Peeping_.] Hah! What do you say, madam? How does your ladyship like my music? _Mill._ O most heavenly! just like the harmony of the spheres, that is to be admired, and never heard. _Warn._ You have ruined all, by your not leaving off in time.