tears falling on your pure Crystals, should turn to
armelets for great Queens t'adore.

_Ang_. I must be gone.

_Char_. Do not, I will not hurt ye; this is to let you know, my worthiest
Lady, y'have clear'd my mind, and I can speak of love too: Fear not my
manners, though I never knew, before these few hours, what a Beauty was,
and such a one that fires all hearts that feel it; yet I have read of
virtuous Temperance, and study'd it among my other Secrets; and sooner
would I force a separation betwixt this spirit and the case of flesh, than
but conceive one rudeness against Chastity.

_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