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The Every-day Book and Table Book. v. 3 (of 3): Everlasting Calerdar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the AlmanacHone, William

History

The Every-day Book and Table Book. v. 3 (of 3): Everlasting Calerdar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the Almanac

Name: The Every-day Book and Table Book. v. 3 (of 3): Everlasting Calerdar of Popular Amusements, Sports, Pastimes, Ceremonies, Manners, Customs and Events, Incident to Each of the Three Hundred and Sixty-five Days, in past and Present Times; Forming a Complete History of the Year, Month, and Seasons, and a Perpetual Key to the Almanac
Author: Hone, William

Hone, William

Days; Great Britain -- Social life and customs

Which too incredulous I ne’er believed.
    Nay, hear me speak, Mosbie, a word or two;
    I’ll bite my tongue if I speak bitterly.
    Look on me, Mosbie, or else I’ll kill myself.
    Nothing shall hide me from thy stormy look;
    If thou cry War, there is no Peace for me.
    I will do penance for offending thee;
    And burn this Prayer Book, which I here use,
    The Holy Word that has converted me.
    See, Mosbie, I will tear away the leaves,
    And all the leaves; and in this golden Cover
    Shall thy sweet phrases and thy letters dwell,
    And thereon will I chiefly meditate,
    And hold no other sect but such devotion.
    Wilt thou not look? is all thy Love o’erwhelm’d?
    Wilt thou not hear? what malice stops thy ears?
    Why speakst thou not? what silence ties thy tongue?
    Thou hast been sighted as the Eagle is,
    And heard as quickly as the fearful Hare
    And spoke as smoothly as an Orator,
    When I have bid thee hear, or see, or speak:
    And art thou sensible in none of these?
    Weigh all thy good turns with this little fault,
    And I deserve not Mosbie’s muddy looks.
    A fence of trouble is not thicken’d still;
    Be clear again; I’ll ne’er more trouble thee.
      _Mos._ O fie, no; I’m a base artificer;
    My wings are feather’d for a lowly flight.
    Mosbie, fie, no; not for a thousand pound
    Make love to you; why, tis unpardonable.
    We Beggars must not breathe, where Gentiles are.
      _Al._ Sweet Mosbie is as Gentle as a King,
    And I too blind to judge him otherwise.
    Flowers sometimes spring in fallow lands;
    Weeds in gardens, Roses grow on thorns:
    So, whatsoe’er my Mosbie’s father was,
    Himself is valued Gentle by his worth.
      _Mos._ Ah how you women can insinuate,
    And clear a trespass with your sweet set tongue.
    I will forget this quarrel, gentle Alice,
    Provided I’ll be tempted so no more.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Arden, with his friend Franklin, travelling at night to Arden’s house
at Feversham, where he is lain in wait for by Ruffians, hired by Alice
and Mosbie to murder him; Franklin is interrupted in a story he was
beginning to tell by the way of a_ BAD WIFE, _by an indisposition,
ominous of the impending danger of his friend_.

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