Hum. Each do his office to this man, your lord; For though Delight, and Youth, and Health should leave him, This ivory-gated palace shall receive him. [Exeunt. 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 not waste The weight of a sad violet in excess; Yet still thy board had dishes numberless: Enter FOLLY. 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. Ray. Read. 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, 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 none 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; blockishaway! 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, strappado me, hang me, I'll not stir; poor Folly, honest Folly, jocundary Folly forsake your lordship! no true gentleman hates me; and how many women are given daily to me, (if I would take 'em,) some not far off know. Tailor gone, Spanish fig gone, all gone, but II- Enter HUMOUR. Hum. My waiters quoited off by you! you flay them! Whence come these thunderbolts? what furies haunt you Ray. You. Fol. She! Ray. Yes, and thou. Fol. Bow-wow! Ray. I shall grow old, diseased, and melancholy; For you have robb'd me both of Youth and Health, And that Delight my Spring bestow'd upon me: But for you two, I should be wondrous good; By you I have been cozen'd, baffled, torn From the embracements of the noblest creatureHum. Your Spring? Ray. Yes, she, even she, only the Spring. One morning, spent with her, was worth ten nights Fol. And April, a whining puppy. Hum. But May was a fine piece. Fol. Indeed May was a sweet creature; and yet a great raiser of Maypoles. Hum. When will you sing my praises thus? Ray. Thy praises, That art a common creature! Hum. Common! Ray. Yes, common: I cannot pass through any prince's court, Through any country, camp, town, city, village, But up your name is cried, nay curs'd; "a vengeance On this your debauch'd Humour!" Fol. A vintner spoke those very words, last night, to a company of roaring-boys, that would not pay their reckoning. Ray. How many bastards hast thou? Hum. None. Ray. 'Tis a lie; Be judged by this your squire, else. Fol. Squire! worshipful master Folly. Ray. The courtier has his Humour, has he not, Folly? Fol. Yes, marry, has he-folly: the courtier's humour is to be brave, and not pay for't; to be proud, and no man cares for't. Ray. Brave ladies have their humours. Fol. Who has to do with that, but brave lords? Ray. Your citizens have brave humours. Fol. Oh! but their wives have tickling humours. Hum. Yet done? Hum. Each do his office to this man, your lord; For though Delight, and Youth, and Health should leave him, This ivory-gated palace shall receive him. [Exeunt. 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 not waste The weight of a sad violet in excess Yet still thy board had dishes numberless: Enter FOLLY. Fol. I have done, my lord; my muse has pump'd |