_Ang._ Speak not so softly, Sir, 'tis very likely.
_Bri._ Come, leave your finical talk, and let's dispatch, _Charles_.
_Char._ Dispatch, what?
_Bri._ Why the Land.
_Char._ You are deceiv'd, Sir. Now I perceive what 'tis that wooes a
woman, and what maintains her when she's woo'd: I'll stop here. A wilful
poverty ne'er made a Beauty, nor want of means maintain'd it vertuously:
though land and moneys be no happiness, yet they are counted good
additions. That use I'll make; he that neglects a blessing, though he want
a present knowledge how to use it, neglects himself. May be I have done
you wrong, Lady, whose love and hope went hand in hand together; may be my
Brother, that has long expected the happy hour, and bless'd my ignorance;
pray give me leave, Sir, I shall clear all doubts; why did they shew me
you? pray tell me that?
(_Mir._ He'll talk thee into a pension for thy knavery.)
_Char._ You, happy you, why did you break unto me? The Rosie sugred morn
ne'er broke so sweetly: I am a man, and have desires within me, affections
too, though they were drown'd a while, and lay dead, till the Spring of
beauty rais'd them; till I saw those eyes, I was but a lump, a chaos of
confusedness dwelt in me; then from those eyes shot Love, and he
distinguish'd, and into form he drew my faculties; and now I know my Land,
and now I love too.
_Bri._ We had best remove the Maid.
_Char._ It is too late, Sir.
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