[ _Enter_ Megra.

Here's another; if she be of the same last, the Devil shall pluck her on. Many fair mornings, Lady.

_Meg_. As many mornings bring as many dayes, Fair, sweet, and hopeful to your Grace.

_Pha_. She gives good words yet; Sure this wench is free.

If your more serious business do not call you, Let me hold quarter with you, we'll take an hour Out quickly.

_Meg_. What would your Grace talk of?

_Pha_. Of some such pretty subject as your self.

I'le go no further than your eye, or lip, There's theme enough for one man for an age.

_Meg_. Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even, Smooth, young enough, ripe enough, red enough, Or my gla.s.s wrongs me.

_Pha_. O they are two twin'd Cherries died in blushes, Which those fair suns above, with their bright beams Reflect upon, and ripen: sweetest beauty, Bow down those branches, that the longing taste, Of the faint looker on, may meet those blessings, And taste and live.

_Meg_. O delicate sweet Prince; She that hath snow enough about her heart, To take the wanton spring of ten such lines off, May be a Nun without probation.

Sir, you have in such neat poetry, gathered a kiss, That if I had but five lines of that number, Such pretty begging blanks, I should commend Your fore-head, or your cheeks, and kiss you too.

_Pha_. Do it in prose; you cannot miss it Madam.

_Meg_. I shall, I shall.

_Pha_. By my life you shall not.

I'le prompt you first: Can you do it now?

_Meg_. Methinks 'tis easie, now I ha' don't before; But yet I should stick at it.

_Pha_. Stick till to morrow.

I'le ne'r part you sweetest. But we lose time, Can you love me?

_Meg_. Love you my Lord? How would you have me love you?

_Pha_. I'le teach you in a short sentence, cause I will not load your memory, that is all; love me, and lie with me.

_Meg_. Was it lie with you that you said? 'Tis impossible.

_Pha_. Not to a willing mind, that will endeavour; if I do not teach you to do it as easily in one night, as you'l go to bed, I'le lose my Royal blood for't.

_Meg_. Why Prince, you have a Lady of your own, that yet wants teaching.

_Pha_. I'le sooner teach a Mare the old measures, than teach her any thing belonging to the function; she's afraid to lie with her self, if she have but any masculine imaginations about her; I know when we are married, I must ravish her.

_Meg_. By my honour, that's a foul fault indeed, but time and your good help will wear it out Sir.

_Pha_. And for any other I see, excepting your dear self, dearest Lady, I had rather be Sir _Tim _the Schoolmaster, and leap a Dairy-maid.

_Meg_. Has your Grace seen the Court-star _Galatea_?

_Pha_. Out upon her; she's as cold of her favour as an apoplex: she sail'd by but now.

_Meg_. And how do you hold her wit Sir?

_Pha_. I hold her wit? The strength of all the Guard cannot hold it, if they were tied to it, she would blow 'em out of the Kingdom, they talk of _Jupiter_, he's but a squib cracker to her: Look well about you, and you may find a tongue-bolt. But speak sweet Lady, shall I be freely welcome?

_Meg_. Whither?

_Pha_. To your bed; if you mistrust my faith, you do me the unn.o.blest wrong.

_Meg_. I dare not Prince, I dare not.

_Pha_. Make your own conditions, my purse shall seal 'em, and what you dare imagine you can want, I'le furnish you withal: give two hours to your thoughts every morning about it. Come, I know you are bashful, speak in my ear, will you be mine? keep this, and with it me: soon I will visit you.

_Meg_. My Lord, my Chamber's most unsafe, but when 'tis night I'le find some means to slip into your lodging: till when--

_Pha_. Till when, this, and my heart go with thee.

[_Ex. several ways_.

_Enter _Galatea _from behind the hangings_.

_Gal_. Oh thou pernicious Petticoat Prince, are these your vertues? Well, if I do not lay a train to blow your sport up, I am no woman; and Lady Towsabel I'le fit you for't.

[_Exit_ Gal.

_Enter _Arethusa _and a_ Lady.

_Are_. Where's the boy?

_La_. Within Madam.

_Are_. Gave you him gold to buy him cloaths?

_La_. I did.

_Are_. And has he don't?

_La_. Yes Madam.

_Are_. 'Tis a pretty sad talking lad, is it not?

Askt you his name?

_La_. No Madam.

[ _Enter _Galatea.