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MAURICE.

An errand worth the toil ev'n ten times told.

To see thy figure moving in thy veil,
Is worth a course of five good miles at least;
To see thy glowing face of welcome is,
At lowest reckoning, worth ten score of leagues
By sea or land; and this soft thrilling pressure,—
O! 'tis worth all the leagues that gird the globe.
(Taking her hand.)

BEATRICE.

What idle words! how canst thou be so foolish?

I needs must chide thee for it, thoughtless boy!

MAURICE.

Chide me, indeed, who am two years thy elder,

And too good months to boot!—Such high pretension!
Have sixteen summers and a woman's robe
Made thee so very wise and consequential?

BEATRICE (giving him two mock blows on his shoulder).

Take that, and that, for such discourteous words.

MAURICE (catching both her hands and kissing them separately).

Ay, marry will I, and right gladly too,

When this and this are added to the gift.

BEATRICE.

Forbear such idle rapture, 't is a folly: