Grimes.  I, there it goes.

Bon.  I protest I comend him; he goes through stitch with her like the Master of his trade.

Lov. It[em] her brests two bottomes[59] be of thred,
By which love to his laborinth is led. 
Her belly—­

Grimes.  I, marry, sir, now he comes to the purpose.

Lov. Her Belly a soft Cushion where no sinner But her true love must dare stick a pin in her.

Grimes.  That line has got the prick and prayse from all the rest.

Lov. Butt to that stuff of stuffs, that without scoff Is Camills haire or else stand further off.

Grimes.  How many shreads has he stoale here to patch up this lady?

Lov. The totall some of my blest deity Is the magazine of Natures treasury.—­ Soe, this made up, will I take an occasion to dropp where she may find it.  But, stay; here’s company.

Bon.  Mr. Lovell.

Lov.  And see, I shall divulge myselfe.

Grimes.  A foole, I doubt not.

Bon.  Is your lady stirring?

Lov.  She is risen, sir, and early occupied in her occasions spiritual, and domesticke busines.

    Enter Lady & Magdalen.

Lady.  Sweet Mr. Bonvil. 
The simple entertain[m]ent you receave here
I feare will scare you from us:  you’re so early
Up, you do not sleepe well.

Tho.  I cannot looke on her
But Ime as violent as a high-wrought sea
In my desires; a fury through my eyes
At every glance of hers invades my heart.

Lady.  What ayles you, servant? are you not well?

Bon.  ’Tis his humour, Madam; he is accustomed, though it be in company, to hold a dialogue with his thoughts.  Please you, lady, to give his fever libertie; the fit will soon be overpasd.

Tho.  She bears her age well, or she is not sped
Far into th’vale of yeares:  she has an eye
Piercing as is an Eglets when her damme,
Training[60] her out into the serene air,
Teaches her face the Sunbeames.

Bon.  Madam, I fear my friend
Hath falne againe in love; he practises
To himself new speeches; you and he are not
Broke off, I hope.

Lady.  O, sir, I value my servant at a higher rate:  We two must not easily disagree.  Sir Alexander, attend in Mr. Bonvill.  My daughter’s up by this time, and I would have him give her the first salute.  You had best be wary, Bonvill; the young cittizen or the souldier will rob you of her.

Bon.  O, we feare not them:  shall we goe, sir?

Lady.  Nay, Ile detaine my servant.

Bon.  Harke you, sir, strike home; doe you heare?

          [Exeunt Bonvill, Grimes, Lovell & Mag.

Lady.  Servant, have you leasure To hear what I inioyne you?