_Ant._ Hum, hum, hah; Signior Priuli, my lord Priuli, my lord, my lord, my lord! How we lords love to call one another by our titles! My lord, my lord, my lord--Pox on him! I am a lord as well as he; and so let him fiddle. I'll warrant him he's gone to the Senate-house, and I'll be there too, soon enough for somebody. Odd! here's a tickling speech about the plot; I'll prove there's a plot with a vengeance--would I had it without book; let me see:--"Most reverend senators,--That there is a plot, surely by this time, no man that hath eyes or understanding in his head will presume to doubt; 'tis as plain as the light in the cucumber"--no--hold there--cucumber does not come in yet--"'tis as plain as the light in the sun, or as the man in the moon, even at noon-day: it is indeed a pumpkin-plot, which, just as it was mellow, we have gathered, and now we have gathered it, prepared and dressed it, shall we throw it like a pickled cucumber out at the window? no: that it is not only a bloody, horrid, execrable, damnable and audacious plot; but it is, as I may so say, a saucy plot; and we all know, most reverend fathers, that what is sauce for a goose is sauce for a gander: therefore, I say, as those blood-thirsty ganders of the conspiracy would have destroyed us geese of the Senate, let us make haste to destroy them; so I humbly move for hanging." Ha, hurry durry! I think this will do; though I was something out, at first, about the sun and the cucumber. _Enter_ AQUILINA. _Aquil._ Good-morrow, senator. _Ant._ Nacky, my dear Nacky! 'morrow, Nacky! Odd! I am very brisk, very merry, very pert, very jovial--ha-a-a-a-a--kiss me, Nacky; how dost thou do, my little tory rory strumpet? Kiss me, I say, hussy, kiss me. _Aquil._ Kiss me, Nacky! hang you, sir coxcomb, hang you, sir! _Ant._ Hayty tayty, is it so indeed? with all my heart, faith! "Hey then up go we,"[77] faith--"hey then up go we," dum dum derum dump. [_Sings._ _Aquil._ Signior. _Ant._ Madonna. _Aquil._ Do you intend to die in your bed? _Ant._ About threescore years hence much may be done, my dear. _Aquil._ You'll be hanged, signior. _Ant._ Hanged, sweetheart! pr'ythee be quiet: hanged quoth-a! that's a merry conceit, with all my heart; why, thou jokest, Nacky; thou art given to joking, I'll swear; well, I protest, Nacky, nay, I must protest, and will protest, that I love joking dearly, mun. And I love thee for joking, and I'll kiss thee for joking, and towze thee for joking; and odd, I have a devilish mind to take thee aside about that business for joking too; odd I have, and, "Hey then up go we," dum dum derum dump. [_Sings._