Young Lionel. That shall be the refuse of the flagons, jacks, And snuffs, such as the nastiest breaths shall leave; Of wine, and of strong-water, never hope Henceforth to smell. Scapha. Oh me! I faint already. Young Lionel. If I sink in my state, of all the rest Be thou excused; what thou proposed to her, Beldam, is now against thyself decreed: Drink from dry springs, from empty knapsacks feed. Scapha. No burnt wine,[3.09] nor hot-waters! [_She swoons_. Young Lionel. Take her hence. Blanda. Indeed you are too cruel. Young Lionel. Yes, to her, Only of purpose to be kind to thee; Are any of my guests come? Rioter. Fear not, sir, You will have a full table. Young Lionel. What, and music? Rioter. Best consort[3.10] in the city, for six parts. Young Lionel. We shall have songs then? Rioter. By the ear. [_Whispers_. Young Lionel. And wenches? Rioter. Yes, by the eye. Blanda. Ha! what was that you said? Rioter. We shall have such to bear you company As will no doubt content you. Young Lionel. Ever thine: In youth there is a fate that sways us still, To know what’s good, and yet pursue what’s ill. [_Exeunt_. ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I.--_A Room in_ Old Wincott’s _House_. _Enter_ Old Wincott _and his_ Wife. Wincott. And what’s this Delavil? Wife. My apprehension Can give him no more true expression, Than that he first appears a gentleman, And well conditioned. Wincott. That for outward show; But what in him have you observèd else, To make him better known? Wife. I have not eyes To search into the inward thoughts of men, Nor ever was I studied in that art To judge of men’s affection by the face; But that which makes me best opinioned of him Is that he’s the companion and the friend Beloved of him whom you so much commend-- The noble Master Geraldine. Wincott. Thou hast spoke That which not only crowns his true desert, But now instates him in my better thoughts, Making his worth unquestioned. Wife. He pretends Love to my sister Pru. I have observed him Single her out to private conference. Wincott. But I could rather, for her own sake, wish Young Geraldine would fix his thoughts that way, And she towards him; in such affinity, Trust me, I would not use a sparing hand. Wife. But Love in these kinds should not be compelled, Forced, nor persuaded; when it freely springs, And of itself takes voluntary root, It grows, it spreads, it ripens, and brings forth Such an usurious crop of timely fruit As crowns a plenteous autumn. Wincott. Such a harvest I should not be the ungladdest man to see, [_Enter_ Clown. Of all thy sister’s friends.--Now, whence come you?