_Val._ I thank ye, 'tis a curse sufficient for me, A labour'd one too, though you mean a blessing. What shall I do? I am like a wretched Debtor, That has a summe to tender on the forfeit Of all he is worth, yet dare not offer it. Other men see the Sun, yet I must wink at it; And though I know 'tis perfect day, deny it: My veins are all on fire, and burn like _Ætna_, Youth and desire beat larums to my blood, And adde fresh fuel to my warm affections. I must injoy her, yet when I consider, When I collect my self, and weigh her danger, The tyrants will, and his power taught to murther, My tender care controlls my blood within me, And like a cold fit of a peevish Ague Creeps to my soul, and flings an Ice upon me, _Enter Queen,_ Evanthe, _Ladies, and Fool._ That locks all powers of youth up: but prevention-- O what a blessedness 'twere to be old now, To be unable, bed-rid with diseases, Or halt on Crutches to meet holy _Hymen_; What a rare benefit! but I am curst, That that speaks other men most freely happy, And makes all eyes hang on their expectations, Must prove the bane of me, youth, and ability. She comes to bed, how shall I entertain her? _Tony._ Nay I come after too, take the fool with ye, For lightly he is ever one at Weddings. _Queen. Evanthe_, make ye unready, your Lord staies for ye, And prethee be merry. _Tony._ Be very merry, Chicken, Thy Lord will pipe to thee anon, and make thee dance too. _Lady._ Will he so, good-man ass? _Tony._ Yes good filly, And you had such a Pipe, that piped so sweetly, You would dance to death, you have learnt your sinque a pace. _Evan._ Your grace desires that that is too free in me, I am merry at the heart. _Tony._ Thou wilt be anon, the young smug boy will give thee a sweet cordial. _Evan._ I am so taken up in all my thoughts, So possest Madam with the lawfull sweets I shall this night partake of with my Lord, So far transported (pardon my immodesty.) _Val._ Alas poor wench, how shall I recompence thee? _Evan._ That though they must be short, and snatcht away too, E're they grow ripe, yet I shall far prefer 'em Before a tedious pleasure with repentance. _Val._ O how my heart akes! _Evan._ Take off my Jewels Ladies, And let my Ruff loose, I shall bid good night to ye, My Lord staies here. _Queen._ My wench, I thank thee heartily, For learning how to use thy few hours handsomly, They will be years I hope; off with your Gown now, Lay down the bed there! _Tony._ Shall I get into it and warm it for thee? a fools fire is a fine thing, And I'le so buss thee. _Queen._ I'le have ye whipt ye Rascal. _Tony._ That will provoke me more, I'le talk with thy husband, He's a wise man I hope.