JOHN My spirits turn to fire, they mount so fast. My joys are turbulent, my hopes shew like fruition. These high and gusty relishes of life, sure, Have no allayings of mortality in them. I am too hot now and o'ercapable, For the tedious processes, and creeping wisdom, Of human acts, and enterprizes of a man. I want some seasonings of adversity, Some strokes of the old mortifier Calamity, To take these swellings down, divines call vanity. FIRST GENTLEMAN Mr. Woodvil, Mr. Woodvil. SECOND GENTLEMAN Where is Woodvil? GRAY Let him alone. I have seen him in these lunes before. His abstractions must not taint the good mirth. JOHN (_continuing to soliloquize_) O for some friend now, To conceal nothing from, to have no secrets. How fine and noble a thing is confidence, How reasonable too, and almost godlike! Fast cement of fast friends, band of society, Old natural go-between in the world's business, Where civil life and order, wanting this cement, Would presently rush back Into the pristine state of singularity, And each man stand alone. (_A Servant enters._) Gentlemen, the fire-works are ready. FIRST GENTLEMAN What be they? LOVEL The work of London artists, which our host has provided in honour of this day. SECOND GENTLEMAN 'Sdeath, who would part with his wine for a rocket? LOVEL Why truly, gentlemen, as our kind host has been at the pains to provide this spectacle, we can do no less than be present at it. It will not take up much time. Every man may return fresh and thirsting to his liquor. THIRD GENTLEMAN There is reason in what he says. SECOND GENTLEMAN Charge on then, bottle in hand. There's husbandry in that. (_They go out, singing. Only Level remains, who observes Woodvil_.) JOHN (_still talking to himself_) This Lovel here's of a tough honesty, Would put the rack to the proof. He is not of that sort, Which haunt my house, snorting the liquors, And when their wisdoms are afloat with wine, Spend vows as fast as vapours, which go off Even with the fumes, their fathers. He is one, Whose sober morning actions Shame not his o'ernight's promises; Talks little, flatters less, and makes no promises; Why this is he, whom the dark-wisdom'd fate Might trust her counsels of predestination with, And the world be no loser. Why should I fear this man? (_Seeing Lovel_.) Where is the company gone? LOVEL To see the fire-works, where you will be expected to follow. But I perceive you are better engaged.