_Wood._ She can have none: There's not room enough for a thought to
play in.

_Trick._ I think indeed I may safely trust you with such charms; and
you have pleased me with your description of her.

_Wood._ I wish you would give me leave to please you better. But you
transact as gravely with me as a Spaniard; and are losing love, as he
does Flanders: you consider and demur, when the monarch is up in arms,
and at your gates[6].

_Trick._ But to yield upon the first summons, ere you have laid a
formal siege--To-morrow may prove a luckier day to you.

_Wood._ Believe me, madam, lovers are not to trust to-morrow. Love may
die upon our hands, or opportunity be wanting; 'tis best securing the
present hour.

_Trick._ No, love's like fruit; it must have time to ripen on the
tree; if it be green gathered, 'twill but wither afterwards.

_Wood._ Rather 'tis like gun powder; that which fires quickest, is
commonly the strongest.--By this burning kiss--

_Trick._ You lovers are such froward children, ever crying for the
breast; and, when you have once had it, fall fast asleep in the
nurse's arms. And with what face should I look upon my keeper after
it?

_Wood._ With the same face that all mistresses look upon theirs. Come,