Fur.  With tooth and naile Captaine, a my Lord[ship].

Rud.  Hang am Tytts! ile pommell my selfe into am.

Ia.  Your Lo:  your Cosin, sir Gyles, has promist the Ladies they shall see you sowe.

Goos.  Gods me, wood I might never be mortall, if I doe not carry my worke with me.

Fur.  Doe so sir Gyles, and withall use meanes
To taint their high blouds with the shafte of Love. 
Sometimes a fingers motion wounds their mindes: 
A jest, a jesture, or a prettie laugh: 
A voyce, a present; ah, things done ith nicke
Wound deepe, and sure; and let flie your gold,
And we shall nuptialls have, hold, belly, hold.

Goos.  O rare sir Cut. we shall eate nut-shells:  hold, belly, hold!

[Exeunt.

Ia.—­O pittifull Knight, that knowes not nuptialls from nut-shells!

Wil.  And now Comme porte vous, monsieur!

Bul. Porte bien, vous remercy.

Ia.  We may see it indeed, Sir, and you shall goe afore with us.

Bul.  No good monsieurs.

Wil.  Another Crashe in my Ladies Celler yfaith, monsieur.

Bul. Remercy de bon ceur, monsieurs.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE 3.)

Enter Clarence, Momford.

Mom.  How now, my friend? does not the knowing beames, That through thy common sence glaunce through thy eyes, To read that letter, through thine eyes retire And warme thy heart with a triumphant fire?

Cla.  My Lord, I feele a treble happines
Mix in one soule, which proves how eminent
Things endlesse are above things temporall,
That are in bodies needefully confin’de: 
I cannot suffer their dimensions pierst,
Where my immortall part admits expansure,
Even to the comprehension of two more
Commixt substantially with her meere selfe.

Mom.  As how my strange, and riddle-speaking friend?

Cla.  As thus, my Lord; I feele my owne minds joy,
As it is separate from all other powers,
And then the mixture of an other soule
Ioyn’de in direction to one end, like it;
And thirdly the contentment I enjoy,
As we are joynd, that I shall worke that good
In such a noble spirit as your Neece,
Which in my selfe I feele for absolute;
Each good minde dowbles his owne free content,
When in an others use they give it vent.

Mom.  Said like my friend, and that I may not wrong
Thy full perfections with an emptier grace,
Then that which show presents to thy conceits,
In working thee a wife worse then she seemes;
Ile tell thee plaine a secret which I know. 
My Neece doth use to paint herselfe with white,
Whose cheekes are naturally mixt with redd,