men, it were a far
more noble thing to grace where we are grace't, and give respect there
where we are respected: yet we practise a wilder course, and never bend
our eyes on men with pleasure, till they find the way to give us a
neglect: then we, too late, perceive the loss of what we might have had,
and dote to death.

_Enter_ Martha.

_Mar._ Sister, yonder's your Servant, with a Gentlewoman with him.

_Lady._ Where?

_Mar._ Close at the door.

_Lady._ Alas I am undone, I fear he is be[t]roth'd,
What kind of woman is she?

_Mar._ A most ill favoured one, with her Masque on:
And how her face should mend the rest I know not.

_La._ But yet her mind was of a milder stuff than mine was.

_Enter_ Elder Loveless, _and_ Welford _in Womans apparel._

_Lady._ Now I see him, if my heart swell not again (away thou womans
pride) so that I cannot speak a gentle word to him, let me not live.

_Elder Lo._ By your leave here.

_Lady._ How now, what new trick invites you hither?
Ha'you a fine device again?

_Elder Lo._ Faith this is the finest device I have now:
How dost thou sweet heart?

_Wel._ Why very well, so long as I may please
You my dear Lover. I nor can, nor will
Be ill when you are well, well when you are ill.

_Elder Lo._ O thy sweet temper! what would I have given, that Lady had
been like thee: seest thou her? that face (my love) join'd with thy humble
mind, had made a wench indeed.

_Wel._ Alas my love, what God hath done, I dare not think to mend. I use
no paint, nor any drugs of Art, my hands and face will shew it.

_La._ Why what thing have you brought to shew us there? do you take mony
for it?

_Elder Lo._ A Godlike thing, not to be bought for mony: 'tis my Mistris:
in whom there is no passion, nor no scorn: what I will is for law; pray
you salute her.

_Lady._ Salute her? by this good light, I would not kiss her for half my
wealth.

_Elder Lo._ Why? why pray you?
You shall see me do't afore you; look you.

_Lady._ Now fie upon thee, a beast would not have don't.
I would not kiss thee of a month to gain a Kingdom.

_Elder Lo._ Marry you shall not be troubled.

_Lady._ Why was there ever such a _Meg_ as this?
Sure thou art mad.

_Elder Lo._ I was mad once, when I lov'd pictures; for what are shape and
colours else, but pictures? in that tawnie hide there lies an endless mass
of vertues, when all your red and white ones want it.

_Lady._ And this is she you are to marry, is't not?