« PreviousContinue »
liberal and uncommon; my spouse and myself, with our posterity, shall prostitute our services to your bounties :-shall's not, duckling?
Mor. Yes, honeysuckle; and do as much for them one day, if things stand right as they should stand. Bill, pigeon, do; thou'st be my cat-a-mountain, and I thy sweet-briar, honey. We'll lead you to kind examples, pretty ones, believe it; and you shall find us, one in one, whilst hearts do last.
Sec. Ever mine own, and ever.
Troy. A plenteous issue,
. , conceive you know enough, if not the whole; for you have, I may say, tried me to the quick, through and through, and most of my carriage, from time to time.
Spa. 'Twould wind-break a' mule, or a ringed mare, to vie burthens with her.
[Aside. Mor. What's that you mumble, gelding, hey?
Spa. Nothing, forsooth, but that you are a bouncing couple well met, and 'twere pity to part you, though you hung together in a smoky chimney.
Mor. 'Twere e'en pity, indeed, Spadone; nay, thou hast a foolish loving nature of thine own, and wishest well to plain dealings, o' my conscience. Spa. Thank your brideship--your bawdship.
[Aside. Flo. Our sister is not merry.
Clar. Sadness cannot
Sil. At a wedding,
Troy. You should dispense
Mor. Well said, gentlefolks.
Cast. With your pardons, spare me For this time, grant me licence to look on. [Troy.]' Command your pleasures, lady. -Every
one hand Your partner :-nay, Spadone must make one; These merriments are free.
Spa. With all my heart; I'm sure I am not the heaviest in the company. Strike up for the honour of the bride and bridegroom.
Troy. So, so, here's art in motion! On all parts, You have bestirr'd you nimbly.
· [Troy.] Command your pleasures, lady.) The 4to gives this as a continuation of Castamela's speech. It evidently belongs to Troylo.
Mor. I could dance now,
Sec. Light as a feather.
Spa. Sure you are not without a stick of liquorice in your pocket, forsooth. You have, I be
, lieve, stout lungs of your own, you swim about so roundly without rubs; 'tis a tickling sight to be young still.
[Takes her.'aside. Spa. That ear-wig scatters the troop now; I'll go near to fit him. Liv. My lord, upon my
lifeTroy. Then we must sever. Mor. Ladies and gentlemen, your ears.
[Whispers them. Spa. Oh, 'twas ever a wanton monkey—he will wriggle into a starting-hole so cleanly-an it had been on my wedding-day,- I know what I know.
Sec. Say'st so, Spadone?
Spa. Nothing, nothing; I prate sometimes beside the purpose-whoreson, lecherous weazle!
Sec. Look, look, look, how officious the little knave is !-but
Spa. Why, there's the business; buts on one's forehead are but scurvy buts.
Mor. Spadone, discharge the fiddlers instantly.
Spa. Yes, I know my postures-oh monstrous, buts!
[Exit, with the Musicians. Mor. [to Sec.] Attend within, sweeting ;-your pardons, gentlemen. To your recreations, dear virgins! Page, have a care.
Nit. My duty, reverend madam.
[Exeunt severally, Mor. stays Cast. Mor. One gentle word in private with your
ladyship; I shall not hold you long.
Cast. What means this huddle Of flying several ways thus? who has frighted
them? They live not at devotion here, or pension! Pray quit me of distrust.
Mor. May it please your goodness, You'll find him even in every point as honourable, As flesh and blood can vouch him.
Cast. Ha! him ? whom? What him?
Mor. He will not press beyond his bounds;
Cast. Guard me
Mor. Your hands to kiss them,
ness is it?
These melting twins of ivory, but softer
Cast. A rape upon my ears!
Mor. The appetite Of his poor ravish'd eye; should he swell higher In his desires, and soar upon ambition Of rising in humility, by degrees; Perhaps he might crave leave to clap
Cast. Fond woman, In thy grave sinful!
Mor. Clap or pat the dimples, Where love's tomb stands erected on your cheeks. Else pardon those slight exercises, pretty one, His lordship is as harmless a weak implement, As e'er young lady trembled under.
Cast. Lordship! Stead me, my modest anger !—'tis belike then, Religious matron, some great man's prison, Where virgins' honours suffer martyrdom, And you are their tormentor; let's lay down Our ruin'd names to the insulter's mercy! Let's sport and smile on scandal—(rare calamity, What hast thou toild me in! [Aside.])—You named
his lordship, Some gallant youth, and fiery?
Mor. No, no, 'deed, la! A very grave, stale bachelor, my dainty one, There's the conceit; he's none of your hot rovers, Who ruffle at first dash, and so disfigure Your dresses, and your sets of blush at once: He's wise in years, and of a temperate warmth,