_3 Sol._ Will your Lordship buy any honestie? 'twill be worth your mony.
_3 Sol._ Honestie my Lord, 'tis here in a quill.
_An._ Take heed you open it not, for 'tis so subtle, The least puffe of wind will blow it out o'th' Kingdom.
_2 Sol._ Will your Lordship please to taste a fine Potato? 'Twill advance your wither'd state.
_Anc._ Fill your honour full of most noble itches, And make Jack dance in your Lordships breeches.
1 Sol. _If your Daughters on their beds. Have bow'd, or crackt their maiden-heads; If in a Coach with two much tumbling, They chance to crie, fie, fo, what fumbling; If her foot slip, and down fall she, And break her leg 'bove the knee, The one and thirtieth of Februarie let this be ta'ne, And they shall be arrant maids again._
_Bor._ Ye are brave Souldiers; keep your wantonness, A winter will come on to shake this wilfulness. Disport your selves, and when you want your mony-- [_Exit._
_Anc._ Broom, Broom, &c. [_Exeunt Singing._
_Al._ You must not be so fearfull, little one, Nor Lady you so sad, you will ne're make Courtiers With these dull sullen thoughts; this place is pleasure, Preserv'd to that use, so inhabited; And those that live here, live delightfull, joyfull: These are the Gardens of _Adonis_, Ladies, Where all sweets to their free and noble uses, Grow ever young and courted.
_Hon._ Bless me Heaven, Can things of her years arrive at these rudiments? By your leave fair Gentlewoman, how long have you been here?
_Hon._ You have studied hard, And by my faith arriv'd at a great knowledge.
_Al._ I, I, for an hour or two: But when I saw people laugh'd at me for it, And thought it a dull breeding--
_Hon._ You are govern'd here then Much after the mens opinions.
_Hon._ And what they think is honourable.--
_Al._ Most precisely We follow with all faith.
_Al._ Faith to say true, I do not think I was so long: for look ye, 'Tis to no end here, put on what shape ye will, And soure your self with ne're so much austeritie, You shall be courted in the same, and won too, 'Tis but some two hours more; and so much time lost, Which we hold pretious here: In so much time now As I have told you this, you may lose a Servant, Your age, nor all your Art can e're recover. Catch me occasion as she comes, hold fast there, Till what you do affect is ripn'd to ye. Has the Duke seen ye yet?