Not a whit, Now he is from mine eye, I can be merry, Forget the cause and him: all plagues go with him, Let's talk of something else: what news is stirring?
Nothing to pass the time?
_Mil_.
'Faith it is said That the next Summer will determine much Of that we long have talk'd of, touching the Wars.
_Lean_.
What have we to do with them? Let us discourse Of what concerns our selves. 'Tis now in fashion To have your Gallants set down in a Tavern, What the Arch-Dukes purpose is the next spring, and what Defence my Lords (the States) prepare: what course The Emperour takes against the encroaching Turk, And whether his Moony-standards are design'd For _Persia_ or _Polonia_: and all this The wiser sort of State-Worms seem to know Better than their own affairs: this is discourse Fit for the Council it concerns; we are young, And if that I might give the Theme, 'twere better To talk of handsome Women.
_Mil_.
And that's one, Almost as general.
_Ars_.
Yet none agree Who are the fairest.
_Lean_.
Some prefer the _French_, For their conceited Dressings: some the plump _Italian Bona-Robas_, some the State That ours observe; and I have heard one swear, (A merry friend of mine) that once in _London_, He did enjoy the company of a Gamester, (A common Gamester too) that in one night Met him th' _Italian, French_, and _Spanish_ wayes, And ended in the _Dutch_; for to cool her self, She kiss'd him drunk in the morning.
_Fam_.
We may spare The travel of our tongues in forraign Nations, When in _Corduba_, if you dare give credit To my report (for I have seen her, Gallants) There lives a Woman (of a mean birth too, And meanly match'd) whose all-excelling Form Disdains comparison with any She That puts in for a fair one, and though you borrow From every Country of the Earth the best Of those perfections, which the Climat yields To help to make her up, if put in Ballance, This will weigh down the Scale.
_Lean_.
You talk of wonders.
_Jam_.
She is indeed a wonder, and so kept, And, as the world deserv'd not to behold What curious Nature made without a pattern, Whose Copy she hath lost too, she's shut up, Sequestred from the world.
_Lean_.
Who is the owner Of such a Jem? I am fire'd.
_Jam_.
One _Bartolus_, A wrangling Advocate.
_Ars_.
A knave on Record.
_Mil_.
I am sure he cheated me of the best part Of my Estate.
_Jam_.
Some Business calls me hence, (And of importance) which denies me leisure To give you his full character: In few words (Though rich) he's covetous beyond expression, And to encrease his heap, will dare the Devil, And all the plagues of darkness: and to these So jealous, as if you would parallel Old _Argus_ to him, you must multiply His Eyes an hundred times: of these none sleep.
He that would charm the heaviest lid, must hire A better _Mercurie_, than _Jove_ made use of: Bless your selves from the thought of him and her, For 'twill be labour lost: So farewel Signiors.--
[_Exit_.
_Ars_.
_Leandro_? in a dream? wake man for shame.
_Mil_.
Trained into a fools paradise with a tale Of an imagin'd Form.
_Lea_.
_Jamie_ is noble, And with a forg'd Tale would not wrong his Friend, Nor am I so much fir'd with lust as Envie, That such a churl as _Bartolus_ should reap So sweet a harvest, half my State to any To help me to a share.
_Ars_.
Tush do not hope for Impossibilities.
_Lea_.
I must enjoy her, And my prophetique love tells me I shall, Lend me but your assistance.
_Ars_.
Give it o're.
_Mil_.
I would not have thee fool'd.
_Lea_. I have strange Engines Fashioning here: and _Bartolus_ on the Anvil, Disswade me not, but help me.
_Mil_.
Take your fortune, If you come off well, praise your wit; if not, Expect to be the subject of our Laughter.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENA II.
_Enter_ Octavio, _and_ Jacinta.