Clod.  Now, what say you to me?

Zen.  Sir it becomes The modestie, that maids are ever born with, To use few words.

Clod.  Do you see nothing in me? 
Nothing to catch your eyes, nothing of wonder
The common mould of men, come short, and want in? 
Do you read no future fortune for your self here? 
And what a happiness it may be to you,
To have him honour you, all women aim at? 
To have him love you Lady, that man love you,
The best, and the most beauteous have run mad for? 
Look and be wise, you have a favour offer’d you
I do not every day propound to women;
You are a prettie one; and though each hour
I am glutted with the sacrifice of beautie,
I may be brought, as you may handle it,
To cast so good a grace and liking on you. 
You understand, come kiss me, and be joyfull,
I give you leave.

Zen.  Faith Sir, ’twill not shew handsome; Our sex is blushing, full of fear, unskil’d too In these alarms.

Clod.  Learn then and be perfect.

Zen.  I do beseech your honour pardon me, And take some skilfull one can hold you play, I am a fool.

Clod.  I tell thee maid I love thee, Let that word make thee happie, so far love thee, That though I may enjoy thee without ceremony, I will descend so low, to marry thee, Me thinks I see the race that shall spring from us, Some Princes, some great Souldiers.

Zen.  I am afraid Your honour’s couzen’d in this calculation; For certain, I shall ne’re have a child by you.

Clod.  Why?

Zen.  Because I must not think to marry you, I dare not Sir, the step betwixt your honour, And my poor humble State.

Clod.  I will descend to thee, And buoy thee up.

Zen.  I’le sink to th’ Center first. 
Why would your Lordship marry, and confine that pleasure
You ever have had freely cast upon you? 
Take heed my Lord, this marrying is a mad matter,
Lighter a pair of shackles will hang on you,
And quieter a quartane feaver find you. 
If you wed me I must enjoy you only,
Your eyes must be called home, your thoughts in cages,
To sing to no ears then but mine; your heart bound,
The custom, that your youth was ever nurst in,
Must be forgot, I shall forget my duty else,
And how that will appear—­

Clod.  Wee’l talk of that more.

Zen.  Besides I tell ye, I am naturally,
As all young women are, that shew like handsome,
Exceeding proud, being commended, monstrous. 
Of an unquiet temper, seldom pleas’d,
Unless it be with infinite observance,
Which you were never bred to; once well angred,
As every cross in us, provokes that passion,
And like a Sea, I roule, toss, and chafe a week after. 
And then all mischief I can think upon,
Abusing of your bed the least and poorest,
I tell you what you’le finde, and in these fitts,
This little beauty you are pleased to honour,
Will be so chang’d, so alter’d to an ugliness,
To such a vizard, ten to one, I dye too,
Take’t then upon my death you murder’d me.