LUBECK.
How like you Blanch? I partly do perceive
The little boy hath played the wag with you.

SIR ROBERT.
The more I look the more I love to look.
Who says that Mariana is not fair?
I'll gage my gauntlet gainst the envious man
That dares avow there liveth her compare.

LUBECK.
Sir Robert, you mistake your counterfeit.
This is the Lady which you came to see.

SIR ROBERT.
Yes, my Lord: She is counterfeit in deed,
For there is the substance that best contents me.

LUBECK.
That is my love. Sir Robert, you do wrong me.

ROBERT.
The better for you, sir, she is your Love--
As for the wrong, I see not how it grows.

LUBECK.
In seeking that which is anothers right.

ROBERT.