Mom.  Come, Lords, away, lets not presume too much
Of a good nature; not for all I have
Wood I have him take knowledge of the wrong
I rudely offer him:  come then ile shew
A few rare jewels to your honour’d eyes;
And then present you with a common supper.

Goos.  Iewells, my Lord? why is not this candlesticke one of your jewells pray?

Mom.  Yes marry is it, sir Gyles, if you will.

Goos.  Tis a most fine candlesticke in truth, it wants nothing but the languages.

Pene.  The languages servant why the languages?

Goos.  Why Mistris; there was a lattin candlesticke here afore, and that had the languages I am sure.

Tal.  I thought he had a reason for it Lady.

Pene.  I, and a reason of the Sunne too, my Lord, for his father wood have bin ashamed on’t.
                          [Exeunt.

Do.  Well, master Clarence, I perceive your minde
Hath so incorparate it selfe with flesh
And therein rarified that flesh to spirit,
That you have need of no Physitians helpe. 
But, good Sir, even for holy vertues health
And grace of perfect knowledge, doe not make
Those ground workes of eternity you lay
Meanes to your ruine, and short being here: 
For the too strict and rationall Course you hold
Will eate your body up; and then the World,
Or that small poynt of it where vertue lives,
Will suffer Diminution:  It is now
Brought almost to a simple unity,
Which is (as you well know) Simplicior puncto. 
And if that point faile once, why, then alas
The unity must onely be suppos’d. 
Let it not faile then, most men else have sold it;
Tho you neglect your selfe, uphould it. 
So with my reverend love I leave you sir. [Exit.

Cla.  Thanks, worthy Doctour, I do amply quite you;
I proppe poore vertue, that am propt my selfe,
And only by one friend in all the World! 
For vertues onely sake I use this wile,
Which otherwise I wood despise, and scorne. 
The World should sinke, and all the pompe she hugs
Close in her hart, in her ambitious gripe,
Ere I sustaine it, if this slendrest joynt
Mou’d with the worth that worldlings love so well
Had power to save it from the throate of hell.
        [He drawes the curtains, and sits within them.

    Enter Eugenia, Penelope, Hippolita.

Eug.  Come on, faire Ladies, I must make you both Familiar witnesses of the most strange part And full of impudence, that ere I plaide.

Hip.  What’s that, good Madam?

Eug.  I that have bene so more then maiden-nice
To my deere Lord and uncle not to yeeld
By his importunate suite to his friends love
In looke, or almost thought; will of my selfe,
Farre past his expectation or his hope,
In action and in person greete his friend,
And comfort the poore gentlemans sicke state.