If it be ill, I will not urge the acquaintance.

_Ant_. This has a soul indeed: pray let me tell ye--

_Cel_. I care not if ye do, so you do it hansomly,
And not stand picking of your words.

_Ant_. The King sent 'em.

_Cel_. Away, away, thou art some foolish fellow,
And now I think thou hast stole 'em too: the King sent 'em?
Alas good man, wouldst thou make me believe
He has nothing to do with things of these worths,
But wantonly to fling 'em? he's an old man,
A good old man, they say too: I dare swear
Full many a year ago he left these gambols:
Here, take your trinkets.

_Ant_. Sure I do not lye, Lady.

_Cel_. I know thou lyest extreamly, damnably:
Thou hast a lying face.

_Ant_. I was never thus ratled.

_Cel_. But say I should believe: why are these sent me?
And why art thou the Messenger? who art thou?

_Ant_. Lady, look on 'em wisely, and then consider
Who can send such as these, but a King only?
And, to what beauty can they be oblations,
But only yours? For me that am the carrier,
'Tis only fit you know I am his servant,
And have fulfil'd his will.

_Cel_. You are short and pithy;
What must my beauty do for these?

_Ant. _Sweet Lady,
You cannot be so hard of understanding,
When a King's favour shines upon ye gloriously,
And speaks his love in these--

_Cel_. O then love's the matter;
Sir-reverence love; now I begin to feel ye:
And I should be the Kings Whore, a brave title;
And go as glorious as the Sun, O brave still:
The chief Commandress of his Concubines,
Hurried from place to place to meet his pleasures.

_Ant_. A devilish subtil wench, but a rare spirit. (dry,

_Cel_. And when the good old spunge had suckt my youth
And left some of his Royal aches in my bones:
When time shall tell me I have plough'd my life up,
And cast long furrows in my face to sink me.

_Ant_. You must not think so, Lady.

_Cel_. Then can these, Sir,
These precious things, the price of youth and beauty;
This shop here of sin-offerings set me off again?
Can it restore me chaste, young, innocent?
Purge me to what I was? add to my memory
An honest and a noble fame? The Kings device;
The sin's as universal as the Sun is,
And lights an everlasting Torch to shame me.

_Ant_. Do you hold so sleight account of a great Kings favour,
That all knees bow to purchase?

_Cel_. Prethee peace:
If thou knewst how ill favouredly thy tale becomes thee,
And what ill root it takes--

_Ant_. You will be wiser.

_Cel_.