Cris. A pretty instrument! It's my cousin Cytheris' viol this,
is it not?

Cyth. Nay, play, cousin; it wants but such a voice and hand to
grace it, as yours is.

Cris. Alas, cousin, you are merrily inspired.

Cyth. Pray you play, if you love me.

Cris. Yes, cousin; you know I do not hate you.

Tib. A most subtile wench! how she hath baited him with a viol
yonder, for a song!

Cris. Cousin, 'pray you call mistress Chloe! she shall hear an
essay of my poetry.

Tuc. I'll call her.--Come hither, cockatrice: here's one will set
thee up, my sweet punk, set thee up.

Chloe. Are you a poet so soon, sir?

CRlSPINUS plays and sings.

Love is blind, and a wanton;
In the whole world, there is scant one
---Such another:
No, not his mother.