Y. ART. Sweet Mistress Mary, I'll invite myself: And there I'll frolic, sup, and spend the night. My plot is current; here 'tis in my hand Will make me happy in my second choice: And I may freely challenge as mine own, What I am now enforc'd to seek by stealth. Love is not much unlike ambition; For in them both all lets must be remov'd 'Twixt every crown and him that would aspire; And he that will attempt to win the same Must plunge up to the depth o'er head and ears, And hazard drowning in that purple sea: So he that loves must needs through blood and fire, And do all things to compass his desire. [_Exit_. SCENE III. _A Room in Young Arthur's House_. _Enter_ MISTRESS ARTHUR _and her_ MAID. MRS ART. Come, spread the table; is the hall well rubb'd? The cushions in the windows neatly laid? The cupboard of plate set out? the casements stuck With rosemary and flowers? the carpets brush'd? MAID. Ay, forsooth, mistress. MRS ART. Look to the kitchen-maid, and bid the cook take down the oven-stone, [lest] the pies be burned: here, take my keys, and give him out more spice. MAID. Yes, forsooth, mistress. MRS ART. Where's that knave Pipkin? bid him spread the cloth, Fetch the clean diaper napkins from my chest, Set out the gilded salt, and bid the fellow Make himself handsome, get him a clean band. MAID. Indeed, forsooth, mistress, he is such a sloven, That nothing will sit handsome about him; He had a pound of soap to scour his face, And yet his brow looks like the chimney-stock. MRS ART. He'll be a sloven still; maid, take this apron, And bring me one of linen: quickly, maid. MAID. I go, forsooth. MRS ART. There was a curtsy! let me see't again; Ay, that was well.--[_Exit_ MAID.] I fear my guests will come Ere we be ready. What a spite is this. _Within_. Mistress! MRS ART. What's the matter? _Within_. Mistress, I pray, take Pipkin from the fire; We cannot keep his fingers from the roast. MRS ART. Bid him come hither; what a knave is that! Fie, fie, never out of the kitchen! Still broiling by the fire! _Enter_ PIPKIN. PIP. I hope you will not take Pipkin from the fire, Till the broth be enough. _Enter_ MAID, _with an apron_. MRS ART. Well, sirrah, get a napkin and a trencher, And wait to-day. So, let me see: my apron. [_Puts it on_.] PIP. Mistress, I can tell ye one thing, my master's wench Will come home to-day to dinner. _Enter_ JUSTICE REASON, _and his man_ HUGH. MRS ART. She shall be welcome, if she be his guest. But here's some of our guests are come already: A chair for Justice Reason, sirrah! JUS. Good morrow, Mistress Arthur! you are like a good housewife: At your request I am come home. What, a chair! Thus age seeks ease. Where is your husband, mistress? What, a cushion, too! PIP. I pray you, ease your tail, sir. JUS. Marry, and will, good fellow; twenty thanks. [HUGH _and_ PIPKIN _converse apart_.]