_Ros._ Avoid him; for he hath a dwindled leg, A low forehead, and a thin coal-black beard; 130 And will be jealous too, believe it, sweet; For his chin sweats, and hath a gander neck, A thin lip, and a little monkish eye. 'Precious! what a slender waist he hath! He looks like a may-pole,[64] or a notched stick; He'll snap in two at every little strain. Give me a husband that will fill mine arms, Of steady judgment, quick and nimble sense; Fools relish not a lady's excellence. [_Exeunt all on the lower stage; at which the cornets sound a flourish, and a peal of shot is given._ _Mel._ The triumph's ended; but look, Rossaline! 140 What gloomy soul in strange accustrements[65] Walks on the pavement? _Ros._ Good sweet, let's to her; prithee, Mellida. _Mel._ How covetous thou art of novelties! _Ros._ Pish! 'tis our nature to desire things That are thought strangers to the common cut. _Mel._ I am exceeding willing, but---- _Ros._ But what? prithee, go down; let's see her face: God send that neither wit nor beauty wants, Those tempting sweets, affection's adamants. 150 [_Exeunt._ _Ant._ Come down: she comes like--O, no simile Is precious, choice, or elegant enough To illustrate her descent! Leap heart, she comes! She comes! smile heaven, and softest southern wind Kiss her cheek gently with perfumèd breath. She comes! creation's purity, admir'd, Ador'd amazing rarity, she comes! O, now, Antonio, press thy spirit forth In following passion, knit thy senses close, Heap up thy powers, double all thy man. 160 _Enter_ MELLIDA, ROSSALINE, _and_ FLAVIA. She comes! O, how her eyes dart wonder on my heart! Mount blood! soul to my lips! taste Hebe's cup: Stand firm on deck, when beauty's close fight's[66] up. _Mel._ Lady, your strange habit doth beget Our pregnant thoughts, even great of much desire, To be acquaint with your condition. _Ros._ Good, sweet lady, without more ceremonies, What country claims your birth? and, sweet, your name? _Ant._ In hope your bounty will extend itself 170 In self-same nature of fair courtesy, I'll shun all niceness; my name's Florizell, My country Scythia; I am Amazon, Cast on this shore by fury of the sea. _Ros._ Nay, faith, sweet creature, we'll not veil our names. It pleas'd the font to dip me Rossaline; That lady bears the name of Mellida, The Duke of Venice' daughter. _Ant._ Madam, I am oblig'd to kiss your hand, By imposition of a now dead man. 180 [_To_ MELLIDA, _kissing her hand_. _Ros._ Now, by my troth, I long, beyond all thought, To know the man; sweet beauty, deign his name. _Ant._ Lady, the circumstance is tedious.