And from her eyes do dart such golden beams
That holds my heart in her subjection.

MANVILE.
He ruminates on my beloved choice:
God grant he come not to prevent my hope.
But here's another, him I'll listen to.

[Enter Mountney, disguised, at another door.]

LORD MOUNTNEY.
Nature unjust, in utterance of thy art,
To grace a peasant with a Princes fame!
Peasant am I, so to misterm my love:
Although a millers daughter by her birth,
Yet may her beauty and her vertues well suffice
To hide the blemish of her birth in hell,
Where neither envious eyes nor thought can pierce,
But endless darkness ever smother it.
Go, William Conqueror, and seek thy love,
Whilest I draw back and court mine own the while,
Decking her body with such costly robes
As may become her beauties worthiness;
That so thy labors may be laughed to scorn,
And she thou seekest in foreign regions
Be darkened and eclipst when she arrives
By one that I have chosen nearer home.

MANVILE.
What! comes he too, to intercept my love?