_De_. Mor bleu! Why, you dare fight, it seemes, and I was told You were no Cavellier, a very dreame [droane?] A wedg for men to breake their swords upon. I shall never trust fame agen for your sake.
_Cou_. For I did ever thinke thou durst not fence But at a complement; a glittering vapour, A thing of clothes and fitt for chambermaides To whet their witts upon, but now resolve Either to have your skin flead of or fight wo' me For troubling my present meditations.
_De_. Why, sir, if you be serious I shall quit That prejudice you have upon my valour. Looke you, sir, I can draw, and thus provok'd I dare chastise you, too. Cause I was merry I was not bound to feed your spleen eternally With laughter; yet I am not ignorant What an advantage, sir, your weapon gives you In length.
_Cou_. Wee'le change; why, this is honour in thee.
[_They measure and Device getts both weapons_.
_De_. I never cosen'd you, do you remember? These two will guide me on the rope.
_De_. Yes, the Canaries,[272] but with quicker tyme Then you, I hope, can follow: thus I begin. Fa, la, la, &c. [_Excurrit_.
_Cou_. What a heathen Coward's this? how the rogue tripps like a fairie to the towne with 'em! He has been a footman, sure; I have not aire enough to overtake him, and twill be darke presently. If I loose the sight on him ile search the towne, and if I find him not there, pursue him with hue and cries and after hang him.
_Fra_. The sun whose busie eye is still employ'd A spie upon our actions, tir'd with waiting, Is drowsie gone to bed, about whose pillow Night hath hung all her wings and set up tapers As if the Day were timerous like a Child And must have lights to sleepe by. Welcome all The houres that governe pleasure, but be slow When you have blest me with my wishes. Time And Love should dwell like twins; make this your bower And charme the aire to sweetnes and to silence. Favour me now and you shall change your states; Time shall be old no more, I will contract With Destiny, if he will spare his winges To give him youth and beauty, that we may Find every minute a fresh child of pleasure. Love shall be proud to be no more a boy But grow to perfect strength and bold consistence[273]; For when too Active Lovers meet, so happie As wee, whose equall flames light to embraces, Twill be no weight to number many yeares In our delights and thinke all age a blessing. But language is to narrow to expresse What I expect, tis fitt my soule retire Till she present her selfe; and, if it can Measure my hop'd for ioyes with thought, prepare To entertaine the happines.