Not handsome, nor yet (I think) ill-favour'd;
I do not swell with riches, nor am poor,
No Palaces, yet have Conveniences.
What though Poetick Raptures I do want,
My Judgment's clearer than those hotter brains,
To make a Joynture out of verse and songs,
Or thirds in Oratory to endow you;
The Mean betwixt Extremes is Virtue still:
If so, then make me happy, and your self.
Courtiers may tell you that you may enjoy,
And marry pleasure, there each minutes time,
There is all freedom for the female Sex,
Though you are bound, yet feel not, you are ty'd,
For liberty begins when you'r a Bride:
Your Husband, your Protection, and the Court,
Doth cure all jealousie, and fonder doubts,
Which there are laught at as the greatest follies,
If not by most, yet they'r thought mortal sins:
'Tis Heaven on Earth for Ladies that seem wise.
But you are vertuous, and those ways despise,
Therefore take me, that honour you for that.
Here ends my Lord Marquisses writing.
Prudence.
Worthy Sir, could I perswade my Affection to listen to your sure, you should not be deny'd; but it is deaf or obstinate; it will neither take your counsel, nor be intreated. But since you wooe so worthily, I shall esteem you honourable, as well you deserve.
Exeunt.