Cor. [Putting on his Mask, and turning to MEL. Stay thy paws,

Courageous beast; else, lo! the Gorgon's skull,
That shall transform thee to that restless stone,
Which Sisyphus rolls up against the hill;
Whence, tumbling down again, it, with its weight,
Shall crush thy bones, and puff thee into air.
Mel. Hold, hold thy conquering breath; 'tis
stronger far

Than gunpowder and garlic. If the fates
Have spun my thread, and my spent clue of life
Be not untwisted, let us part like friends:
Lay up my weapon, Trollio, and be gone.
Trol. Yes, sir, with all my heart.

[Exit, with the Pole-axe. Mel. This friend and I will walk, and gabble

wisely.

Cor. I allow the motion; on! [Takes off his Mask. Mel. So politicians thrive,

That with their crabbed faces, and sly tricks, Legerdemain, ducks, cringes, formal beards, Crisp'd hairs, and punctual cheats, do wriggle in Their heads first, like a fox, to rooms of state; Then the whole body follows.

Cor. Then they fill

Lordships; steal women's hearts; with them and theirs

The world runs round; yet these are square men still."

The world turns round; yet these are square men still.] The play of words between round and square is not of a very exquisite kind, but it does well enough for Corax. By square he means just, unimpeachable.

Mel. There are none poor, but such as engross

offices.

Cor. None wise, but unthrifts, bankrupts, beggars, rascals.

Mel. The hangman is a rare physician.

Cor. That's not so good; (Aside.) it shall be granted.

Mel. All

The buzz of drugs, and minerals and simples,
Blood-lettings, vomits, purges, or what else
Is conjur❜d up by men of art, to gull
Liege-people, and rear golden piles, are trash
To a strong well-wrought halter; there the gout,
The stone, yes, and the melancholy devil,
Are cured in less time than a pair of minutes :
Build me a gallows in this very plot,
And I'll dispatch your business.

Cor. Fix the knot

Right under the left ear.

Mel. Sirrah, make ready.

Cor. Yet do not be so sudden; grant me leave,

To give a farewell to a creature long

Absented from me: 'tis a daughter, sir,

Snatch'd from me in her youth, a handsome girl;

She comes to ask a blessing.

Mcl. Pray, where is she?

I cannot see her yet.

Cor. She makes more haste

In her quick prayers than her trembling steps, Which many griefs have weaken'd.

Mel. Cruel man!

How canst thou rip a heart that's cleft already

With injuries of time?-Whilst I am frantic,
Whilst throngs of rude divisions huddle on,
And do disrank my brains from peace and sleep,
So long I am insensible of cares.

As balls of wildfire may be safely touch'd,
Not violently sundered, and thrown up;
So my distemper'd thoughts rest in their rage,
Not hurried in the air of repetition,

Or memory of my misfortunes past:

Then are my griefs struck home, when they're reclaim'd

To their own pity of themselves.-Proceed;
What of your daughter now?

Cor. I cannot tell you,

'Tis now out of my head again; my brains Are crazy; I have scarce slept one sound sleep These twelve months.

Mel. 'Las, poor man! canst thou imagine To prosper in the task thou tak'st in hand, By practising a cure upon my weakness, And yet be no physician for thyself? Go, go! turn over all thy books once more, And learn to thrive in modesty; for impudence Does least become a scholar.

A kind of learned fool.

Cor. I do confess it.

Thou'rt a fool,

Mel. If thou canst wake with me, forget to eat, Renounce the thought of greatness, tread on fate, Sigh out a lamentable tale of things,

Done long ago, and ill done; and, when sighs

Are wearied, piece up what remains behind

With weeping eyes, and hearts that bleed to

death;

Thou shalt be a companion fit for me,

And we will sit together, like true friends,
And never be divided. With what greediness
Do I hug my afflictions! there's no mirth
Which is not truly season'd with some madness:
As, for example-
[Exit, hastily.

Cor. What new crochet next?

There is so much sense in this wild distraction, That I am almost out of my wits too,

To see and hear him: some few hours more Spent here, would turn me apish, if not frantic.

Re-enter MELEANDER with CLEOPHILA.

Mel. In all the volumes thou hast turn'd, thou

man

Of knowledge, hast thou met with any rarity,
Worthy thy contemplation, like to this?

The model of the heavens, the earth, the waters,
The harmony and sweet consent of times,
Are not of such an excellence, in form
Of their creation, as the infinite wonder
That dwells within the compass of this face:
And yet, I tell thee, scholar, under this
Well-ordered sign, is lodg'd such an obedience
As will hereafter, in another age,

Strike all comparison into a silence.
She had a sister too;-but as for her,
If I were given to talk, I could describe
A pretty piece of goodness-let that pass-

We must be wise sometimes. What would you with her?

Cor. I with her? nothing by your leave, sir, I; It is not my profession.

Mel. You are saucy,

And, as I take it, scurvy in your sauciness,
To use no more respect-good soul! be patient;
We are a pair of things, the world doth laugh at.
Yet be content, Cleophila; those clouds,
Which bar the sun from shining on our miseries,
Will never be chased off till I am dead;

And then some charitable soul will take thee
Into protection: I am hasting on;

The time cannot be long.

Cleo. I do beseech you,

Sir, as you love your health, as you respect

My safety, let not passion overrule you.

Mel. It shall not; I am friends with all the world.

Get me some wine; to witness that I will be

An absolute good fellow, I will drink with thee. Cor. Have you prepared his

Cleo. It is in readiness.

cup?

[Aside to CLEO.

Enter CUCULUS and GRILLA.

Cuc. By your leave, gallants, I come to speak with a young lady, as they say, the old Trojan's daughter of the house.

Mel. Your business with my lady-daughter, toss-pot?