Fol. Folly is sworn to him already never to leave him.

Ray. He?

Fol. A French gentleman, that trails a Spanish pike; a tailor.

*

Ray. Shall I be brave, then?

Hum. Golden as the sun.

Ray. What's he that looks so smickly?†

Fol. One that loves mutton so well, he always carries capers about him; his brains lie in his legs, and his legs serve him to no other use than to do tricks, as if he had bought them of a juggler.-He's an Italian dancer.

Ray. This now

?

Fol. A most sweet Spaniard, a comfit-maker, of Toledo, that can teach sugar to slip down your throat a million of ways.

Ray. My palate pleased too! What's this last? Sold. I am a gun that can roar, two stilettoes in one sheath; I can fight and bounce too. My lady, by me, presents this sword and belt to you. Ray. Incomparable mistress!

Hum. Put them on.

Sold. I'll drill you how to give the lie, and stab in the punto; if you dare not fight, then how to vamp a rotten quarrel without ado.

Ray. How? dare not fight! there's in me the Sun's fire.

*Spanish pike.] i. e. a needle. Our best sword-blades, scissors, needles, &c. were, in the poet's days, imported from Spain.-GIFFORd.

ti.e. so finically, so effeminately.

i. e. to patch up a quarrel.

Hum. No more of this:-(dances)—awake the music! oyez ! Music!

Ray. No more of this;-this sword arms me for battle.

Hum. Come then, let thou and I rise up in arms; The field, embraces; kisses, our alarms.

[Music.-A Dance.

Re-enter SPRING, HEALTH, YOUTH, DELIGHT.

Spring. Oh, thou enticing strumpet! how durst thou

Throw thy voluptuous spells about a temple
That's consecrate to me?

Hum. Poor Spring, goody herb-wife!
How dar'st thou cast a glance on this rich jewel,
I have bought for my own wearing?

Spring. Bought! art thou sold then?

Ray. Yes, with her gifts; she buys me with her

graces.

Health. Graces? a witch!

Spring. What can she give thee?

Ray. All things.

Spring. My Raybright, hear me; I regard not these.

Ray. What dowry can you bring me?
Spring. Dowry? ha!

Is't come to this? am I held poor and base!
A girdle make whose buckles, stretch'd to th'
length,

Shall reach from th' arctic to th' antarctic pole; What ground soe'er thou canst with that enclose I'll give thee freely: not a lark, that calls*

*Not a lark, &c.] I attribute, without scruple, all these incidental glimpses of rural nature to Decker. Ford rarely,

The morning up, shall build on any turf,
But she shall be thy tenant, call thee lord,
And for her rent pay thee in change of songs.
Ray. I must turn bird-catcher.

Fol. Do you think to have him for a song?
Hum. Live with me still, and all the measures,
Play'd to by the spheres, I'll teach thee ;
Let's but thus dally, all the pleasures
The moon beholds, her man shall reach
thee.

Ray. Divinest!

Fol. Here's a lady!

Spring. Is't come to who gives most? The self-same bay-tree, into which was turn'd Peneian Daphne, I have still kept green; That tree shall now be thine: about it sit All the old poets, with fresh laurel crown'd, Singing in verse the praise of chastity; Hither when thou shalt come, they all shall rise, Sweet cantos of thy love and mine to sing, And invoke none but thee as Delian king. Ray. Live by singing ballads!

Fol. Oh, base! turn poet? I would not be one myself.

if ever, indulges in them. The lark is justly a great favourite with our old poets; and I should imagine, from my own observations, that a greater number of descriptive passages might be found respecting him, than of the nightingale. A judicious collection of both would furnish not a few pages of surpassing taste and beauty. While I am writing this, the following simple and pretty address occurs to me. It is that of Young Fitzwalter to his mistress, whom he meets at day-break. "So early! then I see love's the best larke: For the corne-builder has not warbled yet His morning's caroll to the rising sun."-The Palsg

GIFFORD.

Hum. Dwell in mine arms, aloft we'll hover,
And see fields of armies fighting:
Oh, part not from me! I'll discover

There all but books of Fancy's writing.

Del. Not far off stands the Hippocrenian well Whither I'll lead thee; and but drinking there, To welcome thee nine Muses shall appear, And with full bowls of knowledge thee inspire. Ray. Hang knowledge, drown your Muses! Fol. Aye, aye, or they'll drown themselves in

sack and claret.

Hum. Do not regard their toys;

Be but my darling, age to free thee
From her curse shall fall a-dying;
Call me thy empress, Time to see thee
Shall forget his art of flying.

Ray. Oh, my all excellence!

Spring. Speak thou for me; I am fainting.

[TO HEALTH. Health. Leave her; take this, and travel through

the world,

I'll bring thee into all the courts of kings,
Where thou shalt stay, and learn their languages;
Kiss ladies, revel out the nights in dancing,
The day in manly pastimes; snatch from Time
His glass, and let the golden sands run forth
As thou shalt jog them; riot it, go brave,
Spend half a world, my queen shall bear thee out:
Yet all this while, though thou climb hills of
Shall not one wrinkle sit upon thy brow,
Nor any sickness shake thee; Youth and Health,
As slaves, shall lackey by thy chariot wheels:

VOL II.

K

years,

And who, for two such jewels, would not sell Th' East and West Indies? both are thine, so that

Ray. What?

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 man since; another stept but into the Low Countries, and was drunk dead under the table; another did but peep into England, and it cost him more in good-morrows blown up to him under his window, by drums and trumpets, than his whole voyage; besides he ran mad upon't.*

Hum. Here's my last farewell: ride along with

me

I'll raise by art out of base earth a palace,†
Whither thyself

Shalt call together the most glorious spirits
Of all the kings that have been in the world;
And they shall come, only to feast with thee.
Ray. Rare!

Hum. At one end of this palace shall be heard
That music which gives motion to the heaven;
And in the midst Orpheus shall sit and weep,
For sorrow that his lute had not the charms
To bring his fair Eurydice from hell:

Then, at another end,

*The streets of London appear to have been grievously infested at this time with noises (i.e. little knots) of fiddlers, who pressed into all companies, and pestered every new-comer with their salutations.-GIFFORD.

The original copy appears, from some mutilated remains of it, to have contained a description of the palace itself, and also its garden: it was thought useless, however, to excite the reader's regret by inserting the mere fragments.