They could not be to one so faire.
EMILIA.
Thou wouldst not.
WOMAN.
I thinke I should not, Madam.
EMILIA.
That's a good wench:
But take heede to your kindnes though.
WOMAN.
Why, Madam?
EMILIA.
Men are mad things.
ARCITE.
Will ye goe forward, Cosen?
EMILIA.
Canst not thou worke such flowers in silke, wench?
WOMAN.
Yes.
EMILIA.
Ile have a gowne full of 'em, and of these;
This is a pretty colour, wilt not doe
Rarely upon a Skirt, wench?
WOMAN.
Deinty, Madam.
ARCITE.
Cosen, Cosen, how doe you, Sir? Why, Palamon?
PALAMON.
Never till now I was in prison, Arcite.
ARCITE.
Why whats the matter, Man?
PALAMON.
Behold, and wonder.
By heaven, shee is a Goddesse.
ARCITE.
Ha.
PALAMON.
Doe reverence. She is a Goddesse, Arcite.
EMILIA.
Of all Flowres, me thinkes a Rose is best.
WOMAN.
Why, gentle Madam?
EMILIA.
It is the very Embleme of a Maide.
For when the west wind courts her gently,
How modestly she blowes, and paints the Sun,
With her chaste blushes! When the North comes neere her,
Rude and impatient, then, like Chastity,
Shee lockes her beauties in her bud againe,
And leaves him to base briers.
WOMAN.
Yet, good Madam,
Sometimes her modesty will blow so far
She fals for't: a Mayde,
If shee have any honour, would be loth
To take example by her.
EMILIA.
Thou art wanton.
ARCITE.
She is wondrous faire.
Pages:
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43