There is a strange nobility in your eye,
This lip, that chin! methinks you do resemble
One of the Austriac princes.
FACE. Very like!
[ASIDE.]
Her father was an Irish costermonger.
MAM. The house of Valois just had such a nose,
And such a forehead yet the Medici
Of Florence boast.
DOL. Troth, and I have been liken'd
To all these princes.
FACE [ASIDE]. I'll be sworn, I heard it.
MAM. I know not how! it is not any one,
But e'en the very choice of all their features.
FACE [ASIDE]. I'll in, and laugh.
[EXIT.]
MAM. A certain touch, or air,
That sparkles a divinity, beyond
An earthly beauty!
DOL. O, you play the courtier.
MAM. Good lady, give me leave --
DOL. In faith, I may not,
To mock me, sir.
MAM. To burn in this sweet flame;
The phoenix never knew a nobler death.
DOL. Nay, now you court the courtier, and destroy
What you would build. This art, sir, in your words,
Calls your whole faith in question.
MAM. By my soul --
DOL. Nay, oaths are made of the same air, sir.
MAM. Nature
Never bestow'd upon mortality
A more unblamed, a more harmonious feature;
She play'd the step-dame in all faces else:
Sweet Madam, let me be particular --
DOL. Particular, sir! I pray you know your distance.
MAM. In no ill sense, sweet lady; but to ask
How your fair graces pass the hours? I see
You are lodged here, in the house of a rare man,
An excellent artist; but what's that to you?
DOL. Yes, sir; I study here the mathematics,
And distillation.
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