2. Then was Venus like her mother, for her father
is but grim
Boy. Do you heare my mad wenches?
La.1. No
Boy. What then, do you see?
Lad.2. I, our way to be gone
Boy. You are too hard for me.
Exeunt. omnes.
Actus Tertius.
Enter Braggart and Boy.
Song.
Bra. Warble childe, make passionate my sense of hearing
Boy. Concolinel
Brag. Sweete Ayer, go tendernesse of yeares: take
this Key, giue enlargement to the swaine, bring him festinatly
hither: I must imploy him in a letter to my
Loue
Boy. Will you win your loue with a French braule?
Bra. How meanest thou, brauling in French?
Boy. No my compleat master, but to Iigge off a tune
at the tongues end, canarie to it with the feete, humour
it with turning vp your eie: sigh a note and sing a note,
sometime through the throate: if you swallowed loue
with singing, loue sometime through: nose as if you
snuft vp loue by smelling loue with your hat penthouselike
ore the shop of your eies, with your armes crost on
your thinbellie doublet, like a Rabbet on a spit, or your
hands in your pocket, like a man after the old painting,
and keepe not too long in one tune, but a snip and away:
these are complements, these are humours, these betraie
nice wenches that would be betraied without these, and
make them men of note: do you note men that most are
affected to these?
Brag.
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