_Bar_.
Do'st thou not see (Fool)
What presents he sends hourly in his gratefulness?
What delicate meats?
_Amar_.
You had best trust him at your Table,
Do, and repent it, do.
_Bar_.
If thou be'st willing,
By my troth, I think he might come, he's so modest,
He never speaks: there's part of that he gave me,
He'll eat but half a dozen bits, and rise immediately,
Even as he eats, he studies: he'll not disquiet thee,
Do as thou pleasest, Wife.
_Amar_.
What means this Wood-cock?
[_Knock within_.
_Bar_.
Retire, Sweet, there's one knocks: come in, your business.
_Enter_ Servant.
_Ser_.
My Lord, _Don Henrique_, would entreat ye, Sir,
To come immediately, and speak with him,
He has business of some moment.
_Bar_.
I'le attend him,
I must be gone: I pre'thee think the best, Wife,
At my return, I'le tell thee more, good morrow;
Sir, keep ye close, and study hard: an hour hence
I'le read a new Case to ye.--
[_Exit_.
[Leandro _within_.]
_Lean_.
I'le be ready.
_Amar_.
So many hundred Duckets, to ly scurvily?
And learn the pelting Law? this sounds but slenderly,
But very poorly: I would see this fellow,
Very fain see him, how he looks: I will find
To what end, and what study: there's the place:
I'le go o'th' other side, and take my Fortune.
I think there is a window.
[_Exit_.
_Enter_ Leandro.
_Lean_.
He's gone out
Now, if I could but see her: she is not this way:
How nastily he keeps his house! my Chamber,
If I continue long, will choak me up,
It is so damp: I shall be mortified
For any woma[n], if I stay a month here:
I'le in, and strike my Lute, that sound may call her.
[_Exit_.
Lute _and_ Song.
1.
_Dearest do not you delay me,
Since thou knowest I must be gone;
Wind and Tide 'tis thought doth stay me,
But 'tis wind that must be blown
From that breath, whose native smell
Indian Odours far excel_.
2.
_Oh then speak thou fairest fair,
Kill not him that vows to serve thee,
But perfume this neighbouring Air;
Else dull silence sure will starve me:
'Tis a word that's quickly spoken,
Which being restrained a heart is broken_.
_Enter_ Amaranta.
_Amar_.
He keeps very close: Lord, how I long to see him!
A Lute strook handsomely, a voice too; I'le hear that:
These Verses are no Law, they sound too sweetly,
Now I am more desirous.
[Leandro _peeping_.
_Lean_.
'Tis she certain.
_Amar_.
What's that that peeps?
_Lean_.
O admirable face!
_Amar_.
Sure 'tis the man.
_Lean_.