I blesse my lipps with your white handes.

Double but my farm And kisse her till thy heart ake; these smocke vermin, How eagerly they leap at old mens kisses, They lick their lipps at profit, not at pleasure; And if't were not for th' scurvie name of Cuckold, He should lye with her, I know shee'l labour at length With a good lordship.

Nay, I must parte your lipps; the mouthe, they say, Harbors most oft weomen's corruptyons: You cannot byte me, madam.