Are you come old Master? very good, your horse Is well set up, but ere ye part, Ile ride you And spur your reverend Justiceship such a question, As I shall make the sides of your reputation bleed, Trulie I will. Now must I play at Bo-peep-- A banquet--well, Potatoes and Eringoes, And as I take it, Cantharides,--Excellent, A Priapisme followes, and as Ile handle it, It shall old lecherous Goat in authoritie. Now they begin to bill; how he slavers her! [G]ramercie _Lilly_, she spits his kisses out, And now he offers to fumble she fals off, (That's a good Wench) and cries fair play above boord Who are they in the corner? As I live, A covey of _Fidlers_; I shall have some musick yet At my making free oth' Companie of Horners; There's the comfort, and a Song too! He beckons for one-- Sure 'tis no Anthem nor no borrowed rhymes Out of the Schoole of vertue; I will listen-- A _Song._ This was never penn'd at _Geneva_, the note's too spritely. So, so, the musicke's paid for, and now what followes? O that Monsieur _Miramont_ would but keep his word. Here were a feast to make him fat with laughter, At the most 'tis not six minutes riding from his house, Nor will he break I hope--O are you come Sir? The prey is in the net and will break in Upon occasion. _Mir._ Thou shall rule me _Andrew_. O th' infinite fright that will assaile this Gentleman! The quarterns, tertians, and quotidians That will hang like Sargeants on his worships shoulders! The humiliation of the flesh of this man! This grave austere man will be wondred at. How will those solemne lookes appeare to me; And that severe face, that speak chaines and shackles? Now I take him in the nick, ere I done with him, He had better have stood between two panes of wainscot; And made his recantation in the market, Than heare me conjure him. _And._ He must passe this way, To th' onely bed I have, he comes, stand close. _Bri._ Well done, well done, give me my night-cap. So. Quick, quick, untruss me; I will truss and trounce thee; Come Wench a kiss between each point; kiss close; It is a sweet Parenthesis. _Lil._ Y'are merry Sir. _Bri._ Merry I will be anon, and thou shall feele it, Thou shall my _Lilly_. _Lil._ Shall I aire your bed, Sir? _Bri._ No, no, Ile use no warming pan but thine, Girle; That's all; Come kiss me again. _Lil._ Ha'ye done yet? _Bri._ No, but I will doe, and doe wonders, _Lilly_. Shew me the way. _Lil._ You cannot misse it, Sir; You shall have a Cawdle in the morning, for Your worships breakfast. _Bri._ How, ith' morning. _Lilly_? Th'art such a wittie thing to draw me on. Leave fooling, _Lilly_, I am hungry now, And th' hast another Kickshaw, I must tast it. _Lil._ Twill make you surfet, I am tender of you: Y'have all y'are like to have. _And._ And can this be earnest?