_Val._ Tye on my Scarf, you are so long about me, Good my Lords help, give me my other Cloak, That Hat and Feather, Lord what a Taylor's this, To make me up thus straight! one sigh would burst me, I have not room to breath, come button, button, Button, apace. _Cam._ I am glad to see you merry Sir. _Val._ 'Twould make you merry had you such a wife, And such an age to injoy her in. _Men._ An age Sir? _Val._ A moneth's an age to him that is contented, What should I seek for more? give me my sword. Ha my good Lords, that every one of you now Had but a Lady of that youth and beauty To bless your selves this night with, would ye not? Pray ye speak uprightly. _Cle._ We confess ye happy, And we could well wish such another Banquet, But on that price my Lord-- _Val._ 'Twere nothing else, No man can ever come to aim at Heaven, But by the knowledge of a Hell. These shooes are heavy, And if I should be call'd to dance they'l clog me, Get me some pumps; I'le tell ye brave _Camillo_, And you dear friends, the King has honour'd me, Out of his gracious favour has much honour'd me, To limit me my time, for who would live long? Who would be old? 'tis such a weariness, Such a disease, that hangs like lead upon us. As it increases, so vexations, Griefs of the minde, pains of the feeble body, Rheums, coughs, catarrhs, we are but our living coffins; Besides, the fair soul's old too, it grows covetous, Which shews all honour is departed from us, And we are Earth again. _Cle._ You make fair use Sir. _Val._ I would not live to learn to lye _Cleanthes_ For all the world, old men are prone to that too; Thou that hast been a Souldier, _Menallo_, A noble Souldier, and defied all danger, Adopted thy brave arm the heir to victory, Would'st thou live so long till thy strength forsook thee? Till thou grew'st only a long tedious story Of what thou hadst been? till thy sword hang by, And lazie Spiders fill'd the hilt with cobwebs? _Men._ No sure, I would not. _Val._ 'Tis not fit ye should, To dye a young man is to be an Angel, Our great good parts put wings unto our souls: We'l have a rouse before we go to bed friends, Pray ye tell me, is't a hansome Mask we have? _Cam._ We understand so. _Val._ And the young gent. dance? _Cle._ They do Sir, and some dance well. _Val._ They must before the Ladies, We'l have a rouse before we go to bed friends, A lusty one, 'twill make my blood dance too. [_Musick._ _Cam._ Ten if you please. _Val._ And we'l be wondrous merry, They stay sure, come, I hear the Musick forward, You shall have all Gloves presently. [_Exit._