In Letter L. pa. 5 for, And stinging insolence should: Read, And stinking insolence, &c.
_Enter two Gentlewomen strewing of flowers._
1. Come bedfellow come, strew apace, strew, strew: in good troth tis pitty that these flowers must be trodden vnder feete as |80| they are like to bee anon.
2. Pitty, alacke pretty heart, thou art sorry to see any good thing fall to the ground: pitty? no more pitty, then to see an Innocent Maydenhead deliuered vp to the ruffling of her new-wedded husband. Beauty is made for vse, and hee that will not |85| vse a sweete soule well, when she is vnder his fingers, I pray _Venus_ he may neuer kisse a faire and a delicate, soft, red, plump-lip.
2. Pitty? come foole, fling them about lustily; flowers neuer |90| dye a sweeter death, than when they are smoother’d to death in a Louers bosome, or else paue the high wayes, ouer which these pretty, simpring, setting things, call’d brides, must trippe.
1. I pray thee tell mee, why doe they vse at weddings to furnish all places thus, with sweet hearbes and flowers?
|95| 2. One reason is, because tis----ô a most sweet thing to lye with a man.
1. I thinke tis a O more more more more sweet to lye with a woman.
2. I warrant all men are of thy minde: another reason is, because |100| they sticke like the scutchions of madame chastity, on the sable ground, weeping in their stalkes, and wincking with theyr yellow-sunke eyes, as loath to beholde the lamentable fall of a Maydenhead: what senceles thing in all the house, that is not nowe as melancholy, as a new set-vp Schoolemaster?
2. Troth I thinke thou mournst, because th’ast mist thy turne, I doe by the quiuer of _Cupid_: you see the torches melt themselues away in teares: the instruments weare theyr heart stringes out for sorrow: and the Siluer Ewers weepe most pittifull Rosewater: |110| fiue or sixe payre of the white innocent wedding gloues, did in my sight choose rather to be torne in peeces than to be drawne on; and looke this Rosemary, (a fatall hearbe) this dead-mans nose-gay, has crept in amongst these flowers to decke th’ inuisible coarse of the Brides Maydenhead, when (oh how |115| much do we poore wenches suffer) about eleuen or twelue, or one a clock at midnight at furthest, it descends to purgatory, to giue notice that _Cælestine_ (hey ho) will neuer come to lead Apes in hell.
