Syl.  You need not fear that, will you be a child still?  He follows you, but still to look upon you; or if he did desire to lie with ye, ’tis but your own desire, you love for that end; I’le lay my life, if he were now a bed w’ye, he is so modest, he would fall asleep straight.

Ang.  Dare you venture that?

Syl.  Let him consent, and have at ye; I fear him not, he knows not what a woman is, nor how to find the mystery men aim at.  Are you afraid of your own shadow, Madam?

Ang.  He follows still, yet with a sober face; would I might know the worst, and then I were satisfied.

Syl.  Ye may both, and let him but go with ye.

Char.  Why do you flie me? what have I so ill about me, or within me, to deserve it?

Ang.  I am going to bed, Sir.

Char.  And I am come to light ye; I am a Maid, and ’tis a Maidens office.

Ang.  You may have me to bed, Sir, without a scruple, and yet I am chary too who comes about me.  Two Innocents should not fear one another.

Syl.  The Gentleman says true.  Pluck up your heart, Madam.

Char.  The glorious Sun both rising and declining we boldly look upon; even then, sweet Lady, when, like a modest Bride, he draws nights curtains, even then he blushes, that men should behold him.

Ang.  I fear he will perswade me to mistake him.

Syl.  ’Tis easily done, if you will give your mind to’t.

Ang.  Pray ye to your bed.

Char.  Why not to yours, dear Mistris? one heart and one bed.

Ang.  True, Sir, when ’tis lawful:  but yet you know—­

Char.  I would not know, forget it; those are but sickly loves that hang on Ceremonies, nurs’d up with doubts and fears; ours high and healthful, full of belief, and fit to teach the Priest:  Love shall seal first, then hands confirm the bargain.

Ang.  I shall be a Heretick if this continue.  What would you do a bed? you make me blush, Sir.

Char.  I’d see you sleep, for sure your sleeps are excellent, you that are waking such a noted wonder, must in your slumber prove an admiration.  I would behold your dreams too, if’t were possible; those were rich showes.

Ang.  I am becoming Traitor.

Char.  Then like blew Neptune courting of an Island, where all the perfumes and the precious things that wait upon great Nature are laid up, I’d clip it in my arms, and chastly kiss it, dwell in your bosome like your dearest thoughts, and sigh and weep.

Ang.  I’ve too much woman in me.

Char.  And those true tears falling on your pure Crystals, should turn to armelets for great Queens t’adore.

Ang.  I must be gone.

Char.  Do not, I will not hurt ye; this is to let you know, my worthiest Lady, y’have clear’d my mind, and I can speak of love too:  Fear not my manners, though I never knew, before these few hours, what a Beauty was, and such a one that fires all hearts that feel it; yet I have read of virtuous Temperance, and study’d it among my other Secrets; and sooner would I force a separation betwixt this spirit and the case of flesh, than but conceive one rudeness against Chastity.