SIR LIONEL. Lord, Lord, what a careless world is this! neither bride nor bridegroom ready; time to go to church, and not a man unroosted: this age has not seen a young gallant rise with a candle; we live drowned in feather-beds, and dream of no other felicity. This was not the life when I was a young man. What makes us so weak as we are now? A feather-bed. What so unapt for exercise? A feather-bed. What breeds such pains and aches in our bones? why, a feather-bed or a wench--or at least a wench in a feather-bed. Is it not a shame that an old man as I am should be up first, and in a wedding-day? I think, in my conscience, there's more mettle in lads of threescore than in boys of one-and-twenty. _Enter_ BASKETHILT. Why, Baskethilt! BAS. Here, sir. SIR LIONEL. Shall I not be trussed to-day? BAS. Yes, sir; but I went for water. SIR LIONEL. Is Will Rash up yet? BAS. I think not, sir; for I heard nobody stirring in the house. SIR LIONEL. Knock, sirrah, at his chamber. [_Knock within._ The house might be pluck'd down and builded again Before he'd wake with the noise. [WILL RASH _aloft_. W. RASH. Who's that keeps such a knocking; are you mad? SIR LIONEL. Rather thou art drunk, thou lazy slouch, That mak'st thy bed thy grave, and in it buryest All thy youth and vigour: up, for shame. W. RASH. Why, 'tis not two a-clock yet. SIR LIONEL. Out, sluggish knave; 'tis nearer unto five: The whole house has outslept themselves, as if they had drunk wild poppy. Sirrah, go you and raise the maids, and let them call upon their mistresses. BAS. Well, sir, I shall. [_Exit._ _Enter_ SCATTERGOOD _and_ BUBBLE. SCAT. Did I eat any lettuce to supper last night, that I am so sleepy? I think it be daylight, brother Bubble. BUB. What sayest thou, brother? heigh-ho! SIR LIONEL. Fie, fie! not ready yet? what sluggishness Hath seiz'd upon you? why, thine eyes are close still. BUB. As fast as a Kentish oyster. Surely I was begotten in a plum-tree, I ha' such a deal of gum about mine eyes. SIR LIONEL. Lord, how you stand! I am asham'd to see The sun should be a witness of your sloth. [_Enter_ BASKETHILT.] Now, sir, your haste? BAS. Marry, sir, there are guests coming to accompany you to church. SIR LIONEL. Why, this is excellent; men, whom it not concerns, Are more respective than we, that are main actors. BUB. Father Rash, be not so outrageous: we will go in and buckle ourselves all in good time. How now! what's this about my shins? _Enter_ OLD GERALDINE _and_ LONGFIELD. SCAT. Methought our shanks were not fellows: we have metamorphosed our stockings for want of splendour. BUB. Pray, what's that _splendour_? SCAT. Why, 'tis the Latin word for a Christmas candle. [_Exeunt._