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Hum. Do not regard their toys;
Be but my darling, age to free thee
Ray. Oh, my all excellence!
Spring. Speak thou for me; I am fainting.
[TO HEALTH. Health. Leave her; take this, and travel through
I'll bring thee into all the courts of kings,
Spend half a world, my queen shall bear thee out:
any sickness shake thee; Youth and Health, As slaves, shall lackey by thy chariot wheels: And who, for two such jewels, would not sell Th' East and West Indies? both are thine, so that
Fol. All lies! gallop over the world, and not grow old, nor be sick? a lie. One gallant went but into France last day, and was never his own
• Leave her, take this, and travel through the world.] It is plain, from Folly's next speech, that this is the true reading the old copy has,--take this, and travel, tell the world.
man since; another stept but into the Low
Whither thyself, waving
Hum. At one end of this palace shall be heard
7 I scarcely know how to understand this. France and the Low Countries are characterised by their well known attributes; but the greeting of strangers (if that be the poet's meaning) was never before, I believe, made the distinctive mark of England. It is sufficiently clear, however, that the streets of London were grievously infested with noises (little knots) of fiddlers, who pressed into all companies, and pestered every new-comer with their salutations. Thus, Withers :
Oh! how I scorn
Those raptures, which are free and nobly born,
8 Here again something is apparently lost;-perhaps a description of the palace-garden. All that can be done is to mark the omission.
Ray. I'll hear no more:
This ends your strife; you only I adore.
Spring. Oh, I am sick at heart! unthankful man, 'Tis thou hast wounded me; farewell!
[She is led in by DELIGHT.
Fol. Health, recover her; sirrah Youth, look to her.
Health. That bird that in her nest sleeps out
May fly in summer; but with sickly wing.
[Exeunt HEALTH and YOUTH.
Ray. I owe thee for this pill, doctor.
Hum. The Spring will die sure.
Ray. Let her!
Hum. If she does,
Folly here is a kind of a foolish poet,
And he shall write her epitaph.
Ray. Against the morning
See it then writ, and I'll reward thee for it.
Fol. It shall not need.
Ray. 'Tis like it shall not need;
This is your Folly?
Hum. He shall be ever yours.
Fol. I hope ever to be mine own folly; he's one of our fellows.
Hum. In triumph now I lead thee;-no, be thou Cæsar,
And lead me.
Ray. Neither; we'll ride with equal state Both in one chariot, since we have equal fate.
Hum. Each do his office to this man, your
For though Delight, and Youth, and Health should
This ivory-gated palace shall receive him,
ACT III. SCENE I.
The Confines of Spring and Summer.
Enter RAYBRIGHT melancholy.
Ray. Oh, my dear love the Spring, I am cheated of thee!
Thou hadst a body, the four elements
The weight of a sad violet in excess;
Yet still thy board had dishes numberless :
Fol. I have done, my lord; my muse has pump'd
hard for an epitaph upon the late departed Spring,
and here her lines spring up.
Fol. Read! so I will, please you to reach me your high ears.
Here lies the blithe Spring,
Who first taught birds to sing;
A sweating sickness she got,
Yet no month can say,
But her merry daughter May
Stuck her coffin with flowers great plenty:
An epitaph o'er her hearse,
But assure you the lines were not dainty.
Ray. No more are thine, thou idiot! hast thou
To poison with thy nasty jigs but mine,
My matchless frame of nature, creation's wonder? Out of my sight!
Fol. I am not in it; if I were, you'd see but scurvily. You find fault as patrons do with books, to give nothing.
Ray. Yes, bald one, beastly base one; blockish— away!
Vex me not, fool; turn out o' doors your roarer, French tailor, and that Spanish ginger-bread, And your Italian skipper; then, sir, yourself.
Fol. Myself! Carbonado me, bastinado me,