_Sis_. Take truce a little, servant.
_Sir_Fr_.
Will you consider, Madam, yet how much
A wounded hart may suffer?
_Lady_. Still the old businesse;
Indeede you make me blush, but I forgive you
If you will promise to sollicite this
Unwelcome cause no more.
_Sir_Fr_.
'Tis my desire;
I take no pleasure in a pilgrimage.
If you instruct a nearer way, 'tis in
Your will to save your eare the trouble of
My pleading, Madam, if with one soft breath
You say I'me entertain'd; but for one smile
That speakes consent you'le make my life your servant.
_Lady_.
My husband, Sir-
_Sir_Fr_. Deserves not such a treasure to himselfe
And starve a noble servant.
_Lady_.
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