But here comes Raymond, disconsolate and sad, And here's the gallant that must have the wench.

JERNINGHAM.

I pri'thee, Raymond, leave these solemn dumps: Revive thy spirits, thou that before hast been More watchful then the day-proclaiming c.o.c.k, As sportive as a Kid, as frank and merry As mirth herself.

If ought in me may thy content procure, It is thine own, thou mayst thy self a.s.sure.

RAYMOND.

Ha, Jerningham, if any but thy self Had spoke that word, it would have come as cold As the bleak Northern winds upon the face Of winter.

From thee they have some power upon my blood; Yet being from thee, had but that hollow sound Come from the lips of any living man, It might have won the credit of mine ear; From thee it cannot.

JERNINGHAM.

If I understand thee, I am a villain: What, dost thou speak in parables to thy friends?

CLARE.

Come, boy, and make me this same groning love, Troubled with st.i.tches and the cough a'th lungs, That wept his eyes out when he was a child, And ever since hath shot at hudman-blind, Make him leap, caper, jerk, and laugh, and sing, And play me horse-tricks; Make Cupid wanton as his mother's dove: But in this sort, boy, I would have thee love.

FABELL.

Why, how now, mad-cap? What, my l.u.s.ty Franke, So near a wife, and will not tell a friend?

But you will to this geere in hugger-mugger; Art thou turned miser, Rascall, in thy loves?

JERNINGHAM.

Who, I? z'blood, what should all you see in me, that I should look like a married man, ha? Am I bald? are my legs too little for my hose? If I feel any thing in my forehead, I am a villain: do I wear a night-cap? Do I bend in the hams?

What dost thou see in me, that I should be towards marriage, ha?

CLARE.

What, thou married? let me look upon thee, Rogue; who has given out this of thee? how camst thou into this ill name? What company hast thou been in, Rascall?

FABELL.

You are the man, sir, must have Millescent: The match is making in the garden now; Her jointure is agreed on, and th' old men, Your fathers, mean to lanch their busy bags; But in mean time to thrust Mountchensey off, For colour of this new intended match, Fair Millescent to Cheston must be sent, To take the approbation for a Nun.

Ne'er look upon me, lad, the match is done.

JERNINGHAM.

Raymond Mountchensey, now I touch thy grief With the true feeling of a zealous friend.

And as for fair and beauteous Millescent, With my vain breath I will not seek to slubber Her angel like perfections; but thou know'st That Ess.e.x hath the Saint that I adore.

Where ere did we meet thee and wanton springs, That like a wag thou hast not laught at me, And with regardless jesting mockt my love?

How many a sad and weary summer night My sighs have drunk the dew from off the earth, And I have taught the Niting-gale to wake, And from the meadows spring the early Lark An hour before she should have list to sing: I have loaded the poor minutes with my moans, That I have made the heavy slow pa.s.sed hours To hang like heavy clogs upon the day.

But, dear Mountchensey, had not my affection Seased on the beauty of another dame, Before I would wrong the chase, and overgive love Of one so worthy and so true a friend, I will abjure both beauty and her sight, And will in love become a counterfeit.

MOUNTCHENSEY.

Dear Jerningham, thou hast begot my life, And from the mouth of h.e.l.l, where now I sate, I feel my spirit rebound against the stars: Thou hast conquerd me, dear friend, in my free soul; Their time nor death can by their power controul.

FABELL.

Franke Jerningham, thou art a gallant boy; And were he not my pupil, I would say He were as fine a mettled gentleman, Of as free spirit, and of as fine a temper As is in England; and he is a man That very richly may deserve thy love.

But, n.o.ble Clare, this while of our discourse, What may Mounchensey's honour to thy self Exact upon the measure of thy grace?

CLARE.

Raymond Mounchensey, I would have thee know, He does not breath this air, Whose love I cherish, and whose soul I love More than Mounchensey's: Nor ever in my life did see the man Whom, for his wit and many vertuous parts, I think more worthy of my sister's love.

But since the matter grows unto this pa.s.s, I must not seem to cross my Father's will; But when thou list to visit her by night, My horses sadled, and the stable door Stands ready for thee; use them at thy pleasure.

In honest marriage wed her frankly, boy, And if thou getst her, lad, G.o.d give thee joy!

MOUNTCHENSEY.

Then, care, away! let fates my fall pretend, Backt with the favours of so true a friend!

FABELL.

Let us alone, to bussell for the set; For age and craft with wit and Art have met.

I'll make my spirits to dance such nightly jigs Along the way twixt this and Totnam cross, The Carriers jades shall cast their heavy packs, And the strong hedges sca.r.s.e shall keep them in: The Milk-maids Cuts shall turn the wenches off, And lay the Dossers tumbling in the dust: The frank and merry London prentises, That come for cream and l.u.s.ty country cheer, Shall lose their way; and, scrambling in the ditches, All night shall whoop and hollow, cry and call, Yet none to other find the way at all.

MOUNTCHENSEY.

Pursue the project, scholler: what we can do To help indeavour, join our lives thereto!

[Exeunt.]

ACT II.

SCENE I. Waltham: The house of Banks.

[Enter Banks, Sir John and Smug.]

BANKS.

Take me with you, good Sir John! A plague on thee, Smug, and thou touchest liquor, thou art founderd straight.

What, are your brains always water-mills? must they ever run round?

SMUG.

Banks, your ale is a Philistine fox; z'hart, there's fire i'th tail on't; you are a rogue to charge us with Mugs i'th rereward. A plague of this wind; O, it tickles our catastrophe.

SIR JOHN.

Neighbour Banks of Waltham, and Goodman Smug, the honest Smith of Edmonton, as I dwell betwixt you both at Enfield, I know the taste of both your ale houses, they are good both, smart both. Hem, Gra.s.s and hay! we are all mortal; let's live till we die, and be merry; and there's an end.

BANKS.

Well said, Sir John, you are of the same humor still; and doth the water run the same way still, boy?

SMUG.

Vulcan was a rogue to him; Sir John, lock, lock, lock fast, Sir John; so, sir John. I'll one of these years, when it shall please the G.o.ddesses and the destinies, be drunk in your company; that's all now, and G.o.d send us health: shall I swear I love you?

SIR JOHN.

No oaths, no oaths, good neighbour Smug! We'll wet our lips together and hug; Carrouse in private, and elevate the hart, and the liver and the lights,--and the lights, mark you me, within us; for hem, Gra.s.s and hay! we are all mortall, let's live till we die, and be Merry, and there's an end.

BANKS.

But to our former motion about stealing some venison; whither go we?

SIR JOHN.

Into the forest, neighbour Banks, into Brian's walk, the mad keeper.

SMUG.

Z'blood! I'll tickle your keeper.

BANKS.

Yfaith, thou art always drunk when we have need of thee.