_ Sweet smelling blossom, would I were thine Uncle to thine own
content, I'd make thy Husband's state a thousand better, a yearly
thousand. Thou hast mist a man, (but that he is addicted to his study, and
knows no other Mistress than his mind) would weigh down bundles of these
empty kexes.
_Ang._ Can he speak, Sir?
_Mir._ Faith yes, but not to Women; his language is to Heaven, and
heavenly wonder; to Nature, and her dark and secret causes.
_Ang._ And does he speak well there?
_Mir._ O admirably! but he's too bashful to behold a Woman, there's none
that sees him, and he troubles none.
_Ang._ He is a man.
_Mir._ Faith yes, and a clear sweet spirit.
_Ang._ Then conversation me thinks--
_Mir._ So think I; but it is his rugged Fate, and so I leave you.
_Ang._ I like thy nobleness.
_Eust._ See my mad Uncle is courting my fair Mistress.
_Lew._ Let him alone; there's nothing that allays an angry mind so soon as
a sweet Beauty: he'll come to us.
_Enter_ Brisac, _and_ Charles.
_Eust._ My Father's here, my Brother too! that's a wonder, broke like a
Spirit from his Cell.
_Bri._ Come hither, come nearer, _Charles_; 'twas your desire to see my
noble Daughter, and the company, and give your Brother joy, and then to
Seal, Boy; you do, like a good Brother.
_Lew._ Marry does he, and he shall have my love for ever for't. Put to
your hand now.
_Not._ Here's the Deed, Sir, ready.
Pages:
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51