know: Curse, lady,
And keep your chamber; cry, and curse! A sweet one,
A thousand in yearly land, well bred, well friended,
Travell’d, and highly follow’d for her fashions!

Lil. Bless his good fortune, sir.

Mir. This scurvy fellow,
I think they call his name Pinac, this serving-man
That brought you venison, as I take it, madam,
Note but this scab! ’Tis strange, that this coarse creature,
That has no more set-off but his jugglings,
His travell’d tricks—

Lil. Good sir, I grieve not at him,
Nor envy not his fortune: Yet I wonder!
He’s handsome, yet I see no such perfection.

Mir. ’Would I had his fortune! for it is a woman
Of that sweet-temper’d nature, and that judgment,
Besides her state, that care, clear understanding,
And such a wife to bless him—

Ros. Pray you whence is she?

Mir. Of England, and a most accomplish’d lady;
So modest that men’s eyes are frighted at her,
And such a noble carriage—How now, sirrah?

Enter a Boy.

Boy. Sir, the great English lady—

Mir. What of her, sir?

Boy. Has newly left her coach, and coming this way,
Where you may see her plain: Monsieur Pinac
The only man that leads her.

Enter PINAC, MARIANA, and Attendants.

Mir. He is much honour’d;
’Would I had such a favour!—Now vex, ladies,
Envy, and vex, and rail!

Ros. You are short of us, sir.

Mir. Bless your fair fortune, sir!

Pinac. I nobly thank you.

Mir. Is she married, friend?

Pinac. No, no.

Mir. A goodly lady;
A sweet and delicate aspéect!—Mark, mark, and wonder!
Hast thou any hope of her?

Pinac. A little.

Mir. Follow close then;
Lose not that hope.

Pinac. To you, sir.

[Mariana courtesies to him.

Mir. Gentle lady!

Ros. She is fair, indeed.