_Gal_. What have you there, my Lord? Gold? Now, as I
live tis fair gold; you would have silver for it to play
with the Pages; you could not have taken me in a
worse time; But if you have present use my Lord,
I'le send my man with silver and keep your gold
for you.

_Pha_. Lady, Lady.

_Gal_. She's coming Sir behind, will take white mony. Yet
for all this I'le match ye.

[_Exit_ Gal. _behind the hangings_.

_Pha_. If there be two such more in this Kingdom, and
near the Court, we may even hang up our Harps: ten such
_Camphire_ constitutions as this, would call the golden
age again in question, and teach the old way for every ill
fac't Husband to get his own Children, and what a
mischief that will breed, let all consider.

[ _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 glass 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