_Alb._ Shall I be brave? Shall I be myself now? Love, give me thy love; brothers, give me your breasts; French knight, reach me thy hand; perfumer, thy fist. Duke, I invite thee; love, I forgive thee; Frenchman, I hug thee. I'll know all,--I'll pardon all,--and I'll laugh at all! [ALBANO _and his brothers talk apart_. _Qua._ And I'll curse you all!--O ye ha' interrupt a scene! 334 _Duke._ Quadratus, we will hear these points discuss'd, With apter and more calm affected hours. _Qua._ Well, good, good. _Alb._ Was't even so? I'faith, why then, capricious mirth, Skip light moriscoes in our frolic blood,[560] Flagg'd veins, sweat,[561] plump with fresh-infusèd joys! Laughter, pucker our cheeks, make shoulders shog With chucking lightness! Love, once more thy lips! For ever clasp our hands, our hearts, our crests! 343 Thus front, thus eyes, thus cheek, thus all shall meet! Shall clip, shall hug, shall kiss, my dear, dear sweet! Duke, wilt thou see me revel? Come, love, dance Court, gallants, court; suck amorous dalliance! _Lam._ Beauty, your heart! _Mel._ First, sir, accept my hands: She leaps too rash that falls in sudden bands. _Lam._ Shall I despair? Never will I love more! 350 _Mel._ No sea so boundless vast but hath a shore. _Qua._ Why, marry me; Thou canst have but soft flesh, good blood, sound bones; And that which fills up all your bracks,--good stones. _Lyz._ Stones, trees, and beasts, in love still firmer prove Than man; I'll none; no hold-fasts in your loves. _Lav._ Since not the mistress,--come on, faith, the maid! _Alb._ Ten thousand duckets, too, to boot, are laid. _Lav._ Why, then, wind cornets, lead on, jolly lad. _Alb._ Excuse me, gallants, though my legs lead wrong, 'Tis my first footing; wind out nimble tongue. 361 _Duke._ 'Tis well, 'tis well:--how shall we spend this night? _Qua._ Gulp Rhenish wine, my liege; let our paunch rent; Suck merry jellies; preview, but not prevent, No mortal can, the miseries of life. _Alb._ I home invite you all. Come, sweet, sweet wife. My liege, vouchsafe thy presence. Drink, till the ground look blue, boy! _Qua._ Live still in springing hopes, still in fresh new joys!-- May your loves happy hit in fair-cheek'd wives, 370 Your flesh still plump with sapp'd restoratives. That's all my honest frolic heart can wish. A fico for the mew and envious pish! Till night, I wish good food and pleasing day; But then sound rest. So ends our slight-writ play. [_Exeunt._ _Deo op: max: gratias._ END OF VOL. II. PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. EDINBURGH AND LONDON.