Lys.  You lost a sweet child there.

Sel.  Name it no more Sir; This is no time to entertain such sorrows; Will your Majesty do us the honour, we may see the Prince, And wait upon him?

Enter Leon.

Ant.  I wonder he stayes from us:  How now Leontius, where’s my son?

Sel.  Brave Captain.

Lys.  Old valiant Sir.

Leo.  Your Graces are welcom: 
Your son and’t please you Sir, is new cashiered yonder,
Cast from his Mistris favour:  and such a coil there is;
Such fending, and such proving; she stands off,
And will by no means yield to composition: 
He offers any price; his body to her.

Sel.  She is a hard Lady, denies that caution.

Leo.  And now they whine, and now they rave:  faith Princes,
’Twere a good point of charity to piece ’em;
For less than such a power will doe just nothing: 
And if you mean to see him, there it must be,
For there will he grow, till he be transplanted.

Sel.  Beseech your grace, let’s wait upon you thither, That I may see that beauty dares deny him, That scornfull beauty.

Ptol.  I should think it worse now; Ill brought up beauty.

Ant.  She has too much reason for’t; Which with too great a grief, I shame to think of, But we’ll go see this game.

Lys.  Rather this wonder.

Ant.  Be you our guide Leontius, here’s a new peace. [Ex.

SCENA V.

Enter Demetrius and Celia.

Cel.  Thus far you shall perswade me, still to honour ye,
Still to live with ye, Sir, or near about ye;
For not to lye, you have my first and last love: 
But since you have conceiv’d an evil against me,
An evil that so much concerns your honour,
That honour aim’d by all at for a pattern: 
And though there be a false thought, and confest too,
And much repentance faln in showrs to purge it;
Yet, whilest that great respect I ever bore ye,
Dwells in my bloud, and in my heart that duty;
Had it but been a dream, I must not touch ye.

Dem.  O you will make some other happy?

Cel.  Never, Upon this hand I’le seal that faith.

Dem.  We may kiss, Put not those out o’th’ peace too.

Cel.  Those I’le give ye, So there you will be pleas’d to pitch your ne ultra, I will be merry with ye; sing, discourse with ye, Be your poor Mistris still:  in truth I love ye.

Enter Leontius, Antigonus, Seleucus, Lysimachus, Ptolomie, Lieutenant, and Gentleman.

Dem.  Stay, who are these?

Lys.  A very handsom Lady.

Leo.  As e’re you saw.

Sel.  Pity her heart’s so cruel.

Lys.  How does your Grace? he stands still, will not hear us.