er, fie!
What might she be, on whom your hopes rely?

ANS. What fools they are that seem most wise in love,
How wise they are that are but fools in love!
Before I was a lover, I had reason
To judge of matters, censure of all sorts,
Nay, I had wit to call a lover fool,
And look into his folly with bright eyes.
But now intruding love dwells in my brain,
And franticly hath shoulder'd reason thence:
I am not old, and yet, alas! I doat;
I have not lost my sight, and yet am blind;
No bondman, yet have lost my liberty;
No natural fool, and yet I want my wit.
What am I, then? let me define myself:
A dotard young, a blind man that can see,
A witty fool, a bondman that is free.

FUL. Good aged youth, blind seer, and wise fool,
Loose your free bonds, and set your thoughts to school.

_Enter_ OLD MASTER ARTHUR _and_ OLD MASTER LUSAM.

O. ART. 'Tis told me, Master Lusam, that my son
And your chaste daughter, whom we match'd together,
Wrangle and fall at odds, and brawl and chide.

O. LUS. Nay, I think so, I never look'd for better:
This 'tis to marry children when they're young.
I said as much at first, that such young brats
Would 'gree together e'en like dogs and cats.

O. ART. Nay, pray you, Master Lusam, say not so;
There was great hope, though they were match'd but young,
Their virtues would have made them sympathise,
And live together like two quiet saints.

O. LUS. You say true, there was great hope, indeed,
They would have liv'd like saints; but where's the fault?

O. ART. If fame be true, the most fault's in my son.

O. LUS. You say true, Master Arthur, 'tis so indeed.

O. ART. Nay, sir, I do not altogether excuse
Your daughter; many lay the blame on her.

O. LUS. Ah! say you so? by the mass, 'tis like enough,
For from her childhood she hath been a shrew.

O. ART. A shrew? you wrong her; all the town admires her
For mildness, chasteness, and humility.

O. LUS. 'Fore God, you say well, she is so indeed;
The city doth admire her for these virtues.

O. ART. O, sir, you praise your child too palpably;
She's mild and chaste, but not admir'd so much.

O. LUS. Ay, so I say--I did not mean admir'd.

O. ART. Yes, if a man do well consider her,
Your daughter is the wonder of her sex.

O. LUS. Are you advis'd of that? I cannot tell,
What 'tis you call the wonder of her sex,
But she is--is she?--ay, indeed, she is.

O. ART. What is she?

O. LUS. Even what you will--you know best what she is.

ANS.