That's the flower, Amelia!
You see how it doth triumph o'er my cheek.
Are you content with me?
Amelia. I am, my lady.
W. Green. And whither think you has the hussy gone,
Whose place you fill so well?--Into the country?
Or fancy you she stops in town?
Amelia. I can't
Conjecture.
W. Green. Shame upon her!--Leave her place
Without a moment's warning!--with a man, too!
Seemed he a gentleman that took her hence?
Amelia. He did.
W. Green. You never saw him hero before?
Amelia. Never.
W. Green. Not lounging on the other side
Of the street, and reconnoitring the windows?
Amelia. Never.
W. Green. 'Twas planned by letter. Notes, you know,
Have often come to her--But I forgive her,
Since this advice she chanced to leave behind
Of gentle Master Waller's wishes, which
I bless myself in blessing!--Gods, a knock!
'Tis he! Show in those ladies are so kind
To act my bridemaids for me on this brief
And agitating notice.
[AMELIA goes out.]
Yes, I look
A bride sufficiently! And this the hand
That gives away my liberty again.
Upon my life it is a pretty hand,
A delicate and sentimental hand!
No lotion equals gloves; no woman knows
The use of them that does not sleep in them!
My neck hath kept its colour wondrously!
Well; after all it is no miracle
That I should win the heart of a young man.
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