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.