ng how much it might concern you, I thought it
better something to abase myself, than you should be anyways hindered.

PLOD-ALL.
Thanks, good sir; and I'll in and read it.

[_Exeunt_ PLOD-ALL _and his son. Manet_ CHURMS.

CHURMS.
Thus men of reach must look to live:
I cry content, and murder where I kiss.
Gripe takes me for his faithful friend,
Imparts to me the secrets of his heart;
And Plod-all thinks I am as true a friend
To every enterprise he takes in hand,
As ever breath'd under the cope of heaven:
But damn me if they find it so.
All this makes for my [own] avail;
I'll ha' the wench myself, or else my wits shall fail.

_Enter_ LELIA _and_ NURSE, _gathering of flowers_.

LELIA.
See how the earth this fragrant spring is clad,
And mantled round in sweet nymph Flora's robes:
Here grows th'alluring rose, sweet marigolds
And the lovely hyacinth. Come, nurse, gather:
A crown of roses shall adorn my head,
I'll prank myself with flowers of the prime;
And thus I'll spend away my primrose-time.

NURSE.
Rufty-tufty, are you so frolic? O, that you knew as much as I do;
'twould cool you.

LELIA.
Why, what knowest thou, nurse I prythee, tell me.

NURSE.
Heavy news, i' faith, mistress: you must be matched, and married to a
husband. Ha, ha, ha, ha! a husband, i' faith.

LELIA.
A husband, nurse? why, that's good news, if he be a good one.

NURSE.
A good one, quotha? ha, ha, ha, ha! why, woman, I heard your father say
that he would marry you to Peter Plod-all, that puck-fist, that
snudge-snout, that coal-carrierly clown. Lord! 'twould be as good as
meat and drink to me to see how the fool would woo you.

LELIA.
No, no; my father did but jest: think'st thou,
That I can stoop so low to take a brown-bread crust,
And wed a clown, that's brought up at the cart?

NURSE.
Cart, quotha? Ay, he'll cart you; for he cannot tell how to court you.

LELIA.
Ah, nurse! sweet Sophos is the man,
Whose love is lock'd in Lelia's tender breast:
This heart hath vow'd, if heav'ns do not deny,
My love with his entomb'd in earth shall lie.

NURSE.
Peace, mistress, stand aside; here comes somebody.

_Enter_ SOPHOS.

SOPHOS.
_Optatis non est spes ulla potiri_.
Yet, Phoebus, send down thy tralucent beams,
Behold the earth that mourns in sad attire;
The flowers at Sophos' presence 'gin to droop,
Whose trickling tears for Lelia's loss
Do turn the plains into a standing pool.
Sweet Cynthia, smi