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Oft times resort to see and to be seen

Walking the street fast by thy fathers door,

Whose glauncing eyes up to the windows cast

Gives testies of their Maisters amorous heart.

This, Em, is noted and too much talked on,

Some see it without mistrust of ill—

Others there are that, scorning, grin thereat,

And saith, 'There goes the millers daughters wooers'.

Ah me, whom chiefly and most of all it doth concern,

To spend my time in grief and vex my soul,

To think my love should be rewarded thus,

And for thy sake abhor all womenkind!

EM.

May not a maid look upon a man

Without suspitious judgement of the world?

MANVILE.

If sight do move offence, it is the better not to see.

But thou didst more, unconstant as thou art,

For with them thou hadst talk and conference.

EM.

May not a maid talk with a man without mistrust?

MANVILE.

Not with such men suspected amorous.

EM.

I grieve to see my Manviles jealousy.

MANVILE.

Ah, Em, faithful love is full of jealousy.

So did I love thee true and faithfully,

For which I am rewarded most unthankfully.

[Exit in a rage. Manet Em.]

EM.

And so away? What, in displeasure gone,

And left me such a bittersweet to gnaw upon?

Ah, Manvile, little wottest thou

How near this parting goeth to my heart.

Uncourteous love, whose followers reaps reward

Of hate, disdain, reproach and infamy,

The fruit of frantike, bedlome jealousy!

[Here enter Mountney to Em.]

But here comes one of these suspitious men:

Witness, my God, without desert of me,

For only Manvile, honor I in heart,

Nor shall unkindness cause me from him to start.

MOUNTNEY.

For this good fortune, Venus, be thou blest,

To meet my love, the mistress of my heart,

Where time and place gives opportunity

At full to let her understand my love.

[He turns to Em and offers to take her by the hand, and she

goes from him.]

Fair mistress, since my fortune sorts so well,

Hear you a word. What meaneth this?

Nay, stay, fair Em.

EM.

I am going homewards, sir.

MOUNTNEY.

Yet stay, sweet love, to whom I must disclose

The hidden secrets of a lovers thoughts,

Not doubting but to find such kind remorse

As naturally you are enclined to.

EM.

The Gentle-man, your friend, Sir,

I have not seen him this four days at the least.

MOUNTNEY.

Whats that to me?

I speak not, sweet, in person of my friend,

But for my self, whom, if that love deserve

To have regard, being honourable love,

Not base affects of loose lascivious love,

Whom youthful wantons play and dally with,

But that unites in honourable bands of holy rites,

And knits the sacred knot that Gods—

[Here Em cuts him off.]

EM.

What mean you, sir, to keep me here so long?

I cannot understand you by your signs;

You keep a pratling with your lips,

But never a word you speak that I can hear.

MOUNTNEY.

What, is she deaf? a great impediment.

Yet remedies there are for such defects.

Sweet Em, it is no little grief to me,

To see, where nature in her pride of art

Hath wrought perfections rich and admirable—

EM.

Speak you to me, Sir?

MOUNTNEY.

To thee, my only joy.

EM.

I cannot hear you.

MOUNTNEY.

Oh, plague of Fortune! Oh hell without compare!

What boots it us to gaze and not enjoy?

EM.

Fare you well, Sir.

[Exit Em. Manet Mountney.]

MOUNTNEY.

Fare well, my love. Nay, farewell life and all!

Could I procure redress for this infirmity,

It might be means she would regard my suit.

I am acquainted with the Kings Physicians,

Amongst the which theres one mine honest friend,

Seignior Alberto, a very learned man.

His judgement will I have to help this ill.

Ah, Em, fair Em, if Art can make thee whole,

I'll buy that sence for thee, although it cost me dear.

But, Mountney, stay: this may be but deceit,

A matter fained only to delude thee,

And, not unlike, perhaps by Valingford.

He loves fair Em as well as I—

As well as I? ah, no, not half so well.

Put case: yet may he be thine enemy,

And give her counsell to dissemble thus.

I'll try the event and if it