_Lam._ You wrong my muse. _Qua._ The Irish flux upon thy muse, thy whorish muse. Here is no place for her loose brothelry. 170 We will not deal with her. Go! away, away! _Lam._ I'll be revenged. _Qua._ How, prithee? in a play? Come, come, be sociable. In private severance from society; Here leaps a vein of blood inflamed with love, Mounting to pleasure, all addict to mirth; Thou'lt read a satire or a sonnet now, Clagging their airy humour with---- _Lam._ Lamp-oil, watch-candles, rug-gowns,[522] and small juice, Thin commons, four o'clock rising,--I renounce you all. 180 Now may I 'ternally abandon meat, Rust, fusty, you which most embraced disuse, You ha' made me an ass; thus shaped my lot, I am a mere scholar, that is a mere sot. _Qua._ Come, then, Lamp, I'll pour fresh oil into thee; Apply thy spirit, that it may nimbly turn Unto the habit, fashion of the age. I'll make thee man the scholar, enable thy behaviour Apt for the entertain of any presence. 189 I'll turn thee gallant: first thou shalt have a mistress: How is thy spirit raised to yonder beauty?-- She with the sanguine cheek, the[523] dimpled chin; The pretty amorous smile, that clips her lips And dallies 'bout her cheek; she with the speaking eye, That casts out beams as ardent as those flakes Which singed the world by rash-brain'd Phaethon; She with the lip;--O lips!--she, for whose sake A man could find in his heart to inhell himself! There's more philosophy, more theorems, More demonstrations, all invincible, 200 More clear divinity drawn on her cheek, Than in all volumes' tedious paraphrase Of musty eld. O, who would staggering doubt The soul's eternity, seeing it hath Of heavenly beauty but to case it up! Who would distrust a supreme existence, Able to confound, when it can create Such heaven on earth able to entrance, Amaze! O, 'tis Providence, not chance! _Lam._ Now, by the front of Jove, methinks her eye Shoots more spirit in me. O beauty feminine; 211 How powerful art thou! What deep magic lies Within the circle of thy speaking eyes! _Qua._ Why, now could I eat thee; thou doest please mine appetite. I can digest[524] thee. God make[525] thee a good fool, and happy, and ignorant, and amorous, and rich, and frail, and a satirist, and an essayist, and sleepy, and proud, and indeed a fool, and then thou shalt be sure of all these. Do but scorn her, she is thine own; accost her carelessly, and her eye promiseth she will be bound to the good abearing. 221 _Cel._ Now, sister Meletza, doest mark their craft; some straggling thoughts transport thy attentiveness from his discourse. Was't Jacomo's or our brother's plot? _Lav._ Both, both, sweet lady; my page heard all: we met the rogue; so like Albano, I beat the rogue.