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414 Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came ; for look here what I found on a palm- tree : I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.

Vio. Good madam, let me see your face. Oli. Have you any commission from your lord to negotiate with my face ? you are now out of your text : but we will draw the curtain, and show you the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was this present. Is 't not well done? [Unveiling. Vio. Excellently done, if God did all. Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir ; 'twill endure wind and weather. Vio. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on : Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive, If you will lead these graces to the grave, And leave the world no copy.