The Tragedy of
Bos.
Love powder?
Jul.
Yes, when I was at Malfy,
Why should I fall in love with such a face else?
I have already suffer'd for thee so much paine,
The onely remedy to do me good,
Is to kill my longing.
Bos.
Sure your Pistoll holds
Nothing but perfumes, or kissing comfits: excellent Lady,
You have a pritty way on't to discover
Your longing: Come, come, I'll disarme you,
And arme you thus, yet this is wondrous strange.
Jul.
Compare thy forme, and my eyes together,
You'll find my love no such great miracle: Now you'll say,
I am wanton: This nice modesty, in Ladies
Is but a troublesome familiar,
That haunts them.
Bos.
Know you me, I am a blunt souldier.
Jul.
The better,
Sure, there wants fire, where there are no lively sparkes
Of roughnes.
Bos.
And I want complement.
Jul.
Why ignorance in court-ship cannot make you do amisse,
If you have a heart to do well.
Bos.
You are very faire.
Jul.
Nay, if you lay beauty to my charge,
I must plead unguilty.
Bos.
Your bright eyes
Carry a Quiver of darts in them, sharper
Then Sun-beames.
Jul.
You will mar me with commendation,
Put your selfe to the charge of courting me,
Whereas now I woe you.
Bos.
I have it, I will worke upon this Creature,
Let us grow most amorously familiar:
If the great Cardinall now should see me thus,
Would he not count me a villaine?
Jul.
No, he might count me a wanton,
Not lay a scruple of offence on you:
For if I see, and steale a Diamond,
The fault is not i'th'stone, but in me the thiefe,
That
