The card of courtship: or the language of love; fitted to the humours of all degrees, sexes, and conditions. Made up of all sorts of curious and ingenious dialogues, pithy and pleasant discourses, eloquent and winning letters, delicious songs and sonnets, fine fancies, harmonious odes, sweet rhapsodies.

The wooer (that he may the better facilitate his full to the mistress) thus enters into conserence with her maid.

Wooer.

SWeet Beancha, thou art entirely loved of her whom I love more then my own life; thou art present at all her critical minutes; rub'st her toes, and helpst to pull her smock ore her ears: prethee, when opportunity shall conspire with time, and thou hear'st thy Mistress praising or pitying her wooers (mentioning me amongst the rest) let me have thy applausive vote: I know thou art prevalent with her, 'bove all her other menials.

Maid.

Sir, you have amply oblig'd my grati∣tude, and (indeed) have bought my suffrage. Sir, expect my utmost oratory on your behalf.

Wooer.

Sweetest Beancha, I am spaciously bound to thee, and shall ever continue thy beneficial friend: prethee wear this Diamond for luck-sake: there's twenty good Angels immur'd in that one stone; I give them as thy guard: take heed, Beancha, that thou prove true unto me, the stone wil lose its vertue else.

Maid.

Fear not my fidelity: Sir, did you but know how I sollicite for you—

Wooer.

Nay, my Beancha, do not think I have least doubt of thy past paines, or future perseverence. If I obtain this Gentlewoman, thou shalt have cause to thank that fate that destin'd thee for this employ∣ment. But prethee deal candidly with me; how stands the affections of thy mistress towards her fie∣ry suitor Mr. E.N? I fear, the vastness of his wealth will excuse the shallowness of his wit, and make him gratious in her eyes.

Maid.

Never doubt him, Sir: my Mistress, though she hold it not convenient quite to eject him from her presence, harbours not one good thought of him: she hath profest to me in private, that in her esteem he's a meer stick of sugar-candy; and indeed, she sees quite thorow him. But, if my desires do not delude my hopes, you are the Jason, Sir, that win this Medea, and the Golden Fleece to boot: nor do I doubt it.

Wooer.

Thou sing'st sweetly in my ears: touch but this string, and I could stand a frosty winters night, shrowded but with my shirt, to hear thy melody. If our united strength can but take in this fort, we'll mutually triumph, and share one happiness. Some two hours hence, I mean to view my goddess. Fare∣well, my best Beansha.

Bean.

Your best wishes wait on you, worthy Sir.