are twinckling Starres agen,
Your lipps twin cherries and out blush the rubie,
Your azure veines vye beauty with the Saphire
Or that your swelling breasts are hills of Ivory,
Pillowes for Jove to rest his amorous head,
When my owne Conscience tells me that _Bunhill_
Is worth a hundred on 'em, and but _Higate_
Compar'd with 'em is Paradice. I thanke you;
Ile not be vext and squeez'd about a rime
Or in a verse that's blanke, as I must be,
Whine love unto[268] a tune.

_Sis_. This all your feare?

_Cou_. No, I doe feare to loose my tyme, my businesse,
And my witts too, jolting them all away
To waite on you in prouder Coaches.

_Sis_. Is this all?

_Cou_. To spend my selfe to nothing and be laugh'd at
By all the world when I shall come at last
To this reward for all my services,
To bee your lay Court Chaplaine and say gravely
A hastie grace before your windowes breakfast.

_Sis_. But how
Came you thus cur'd? You were a passionate
(I may say) foole, in hope you will deserve it.
What phisick tooke you that hath thus restor'd you?

_Cou_. A little sack had power to cure this madnes.

_Sis_. I hope you are not sober yet, the humour
May change when you ha slept.

_Cou_. Ile rather stick
My Eyelids up with Sisters[269] thread and stare
Perpetually.

_Sis_. Then you may see me agen.

_Cou_. I thinke I sha'not, unless it be to wonder,
When you are in the Ivie bush, that face
Cut upon Tafata, that creame and prunes,
So many plums in white broth, that scutcheon of
Pretence powderd with ermines. Now I looke upon't,
With those black patches it does put me in mind
Of a white soule with sinns upon't, and frights me.
How sell you grapes? Your haire[270] does curle in bunches;
You[r] lipps looke like the parsons glebe, full of
Red, blew and yellow flowers; how they are chopt
And looke like trenches made to draine the meadowe.

_Sis_. This rudenes
Is beyond the manners of a gentleman.

_Cou_. I cannot helpe it, and I hope you thinke so.

_Sis_. I am confirm'd that now I am forsaken,
But if your passion have not drownd all reason
I pray let us part civilly.

_Cou_. With all my heart; I dare then take my leave, to[o].

_Sis_. Whoe's there?

_Cou_. Where?

_Sis_. Behind that tree?

_Cou_. You have no plott to accuse me for a rape?
Twas at the worst but felony, for cherries
That look'd as they had been a fortnight gather'd.

_Sis_. I know youle bring me home in Curtesie.

_Cou_. Not I, I wo' not trust my