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Come Affectionata, sit down and entertain me with thy sweet discourse, which makes all other company troublesome, and tedi∣ous to me, thine only doth delight me.
My Noble Lord? I wish the plat-form of my brain were a Garden of wit, and then perchance my tongue might present your Excellen∣cies with a Posie of flowery Rhethorick, but my poor brain is barren, wanting
Thou hast an eloquent tongue, (and a gentle soul.)
My Noble Lord, I have hardly learn'd my native words, much less the eloquence of Language, and as for the souls of all mankind, they are like Common-wealths, where the several vertues, and good graces are the Citizens therein, and the natural subjects thereof; but vices and follies, as the thievish Borderers, and Neighbour-enemies, which makes inrodes, factions, mutinies, intrudes and usurps Authority, and if the follies be more than the good graces, and the vices too strong for the vertues, the Monarchy of a good life falls to ruine, also it is indangered by Civil-wars amongst the pas∣sions.
What passions indangers it most?
Anger, malice, and despair.
Were you never angry?
I am of too melancholly a nature, to be very angry.
Why? are melancholly persons never angry?
Very seldom, my Lord, for those that are naturally melanchol∣ly, doth rather grieve, than fret, they sooner wast into sighes, than fly about with fury; more tears flows thorough their eyes, than words pass thorough their lips.
Why should you be melancholly?
Alas, nature hath made me so; Besides, I find there is not much reason to joy, for what we love, perchance it loves not us, and if it doth, we cannot keep it long, for pleasures passeth like a dream; when pains doth stay, as if eternal were.
Thou art composed with such harmonie, as thy discourse is as delightfull musick, wherein the soul takes pleasure.