Ang.  Then we may walk.

Char.  And talk of any thing, any fit for your ears, and my language; though I was bred up dull, I was ever civil; ’tis true, I have found it hard to look on you, and not desire, ’twill prove a wise mans task; yet those desires I have so mingled still, and tempered with the quality of honour, that if you should yield, I should hate you for’t.  I am no Courtier of a light condition, apt to take fire at every beauteous face; that only serves his will and wantonness, and lets the serious part run by as thin neglected sand.  Whiteness of name, you must be mine; why should I rob my self of that that lawfully must make me happy? why should I seek to cuckold my delights, and widow all those sweets I aim at in you?  We’ll lose our selves in Venus Groves of Myrtle, where every little Bird shall be a Cupid, and sing of love and youth, each wind that blows, and curls the velvet-leaves, shall breed delights, the wanton Springs shall call us to their banks, and on the perfum’d flowers we’ll feast our senses; yet we’ll walk by untainted of their pleasures, and as they were pure Temples we’ll talk in them.

Ang.  To bed, and pray then, we may have a fair end of our fair loves; would I were worthy of you, or of such parents that might give you thanks:  But I am poor in all but in your love.  Once more, good night.

Char.  A good night t’ye, and may the dew of sleep fall gently on you, sweet one, and lock up those fair lights in pleasing slumbers; no dreams but chaste and clear attempt your fancy, and break betimes sweet morn, I’ve lost my light else.

Ang.  Let it be ever night when I lose you.

Syl.  This Scholar never went to a Free-School, he’s so simple.

Enter a Servant.

Serv.  Your Brother, with two Gallants, is at door, Sir, and they’re so violent, they’ll take no denial.

Ang.  This is no fit time of night.

Char.  Let ’em in, Mistris.

Serv.  They stay no leave; shall I raise the house on ’em?

Char.  Not a man, nor make no murmur oft I charge ye.

Enter Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

Eust.  They’re here, my Uncle absent, stand close to me.  How do you, Brother, with your curious story? have you not read her yet sufficiently?

Char.  No, Brother, no; I stay yet in the Preface:  the style’s too hard for you.

Eust.  I must entreat her; she’s parcel of my goods.

Char.  She’s all when you have her.

Ang.  Hold off your hands, unmannerly, rude Sir; nor I, nor what I have depend on you.

Char.  Do, let her alone, she gives good counsel; do not trouble your self with Ladies, they are too light:  Let out your Land, and get a provident Steward.

Ang.  I cannot love ye, let that satisfie you; such vanities as you, are to be laugh’d at.