Mir. And when they gaine the Libertie to distinguish
The difference ’twixt a father and a foole,
To looke below and spie a younger brother
Pruning up and dressing up his expectations
In a rare glasse of beauty, too good for him: 
Those dreaming Scholars then turne Tyrants, Andrew,
And shew no mercy. And. The more’s the pittie, Sir.

Mir. Thou told’st me of a trick to catch my brother,
And anger him a little farther, Andrew,
It shall be onely anger I assure thee,
And little shame. And. And I can fit you, Sir;
Hark in your eare. Mir. Thy wife? And. So I assure ye;
This night at twelve a clock. Mir. Tis neat and handsome;
There are twentie Crownes due to thy project Andrew;
I’ve time to visit Charles, and see what Lecture
He reades to his Mistresse.  That done, Ile not faile
To be with you. And. Nor I to watch my Master—­ Exeunt.

Actus IV.  Scaena III.

      Angellina, Sylvia, with a taper.

I’me worse than ere I was; for now I feare,
That that I love, that that I onely dote on;
He followes me through every roome I passe,
And with a strong set eye he gazes on me,
As if his spark of innocence were blowne
Into a flame of lust; Vertue defend me. 
His Uncle to is absent, and ’tis night;
And what these opportunities may teach him—­
What feare and endlesse care tis to be honest! 
To be a maide, what miserie, what mischiefe! 
Would I were rid of it, so it were fairlie.

Syl. You need not feare that, will you be a childe still? 
He followes you, but still to looke upon you;
Or if he did desire to lie with ye,
Tis but your owne desire, you love for that end;
Ile lay my life, if he were now abed w’ye,
He is so modest, he would fall a sleepe straight.

Ang.  Dare you venter that? Syl.  Let him consent, and have at ye;
I feare him not, he knowes not what a woman is,
Nor how to find the mysterie men aime at. 
Are you afraid of your own shadow, Madam?

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

Syl.  You may both, and let him but goe with ye.

Cha.  Why doe you fle me?  What have I so ill About me or within me to deserve it?

Ang.  I am going to bed Sir. Cha.  And I am come to light ye; I am a maide, and ’tis a maidens office.

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

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

Cha.  The glorious Sun both rising and declining We boldly looke upon; even then sweet Ladie, When like a modest bride he drawes nights curtaines, Even then he blushes, that men should behold him.