nto my study, _Thomas_.

[_Ext. Tho_.

_Enter Device_.

_De_. Most honor'd Captaine.

_Un_. My compleat Monsier _Device_, this is a grace to us. You come to
visit your Mistres my Cosen. As if by instinct she had knowledge of your
[_Enter Ladie and Sister, & Dorothy_.
approach, she is come to meet you.--Shall I never get opportunitie with
that shee waiter! If I gett her with Child my man _Thomas_ shall marry
her.

_Enter Thomas_.

_Tho_. Sir, the Captaine is new alighted.

_Un_. Gett a bottle of sack up to my Chamber presently.

[_Ext. [Underwit & Thomas_.

_La_. You are a gentleman of your word.

_Sis_. And such a gentleman is to be trusted, Madam.

_De_. He is an Infidell that will breake his word with a Ladie.

_Sis_. I suspect, servant, you have many Mistresses.

_De_. Not I, by this white hand. I must acknowledge there are some
Ladies in the Court in whose eyes and opinion I am favour'd. I cannot
obscure my selfe from their observation; but my heart with contempt of
all other endeerement is only devoted to your service.

_Sis_. Is't not a charge to dresse your selfe with such variety of
Ribbands every day?

_De_. Is that your scruple? Tis the Mode to express our fancie upon
every occasion; to shew the turne and present state of our hope or
feares in our Affection. Your colours to an understanding Lover carry
the interpretation of the hart as plainely as wee express our meaning
one to another in Characters. Shall I decipher my Colours to you now?
Here is Azure and Peach: Azure is constant, and Peach is love; which
signifies my constant Affection.

_Sis_. This is very pretty.

_De_. Oh, it saves the trouble of writing, where the Mistres and Servant
are learned in this amorous blazon. Yesterday I wore Folimort, Grisdelin
and Isabella: Folimort is withered, Grisdelin is absent, and Isabella is
beauty, which put together express I did wither or languish for your
absent beautie.

_Sis_. But is there any reason for theis distinctions?

_De_. Yes, Lady: for example, your Follimort is a withred leafe, which
doth moralise a decay: your yellow is joy, because--

_La_. Why, yellow, Sir, is Jealous.

_De_. No, your Lemon colour, a pale kind of yellow, is Jealous; your
yellow is perfect joy. Your white is Death, your milke white inocence,
your black mourning, your orange spitefull, your flesh colour
lascivious, your maides blush