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I know a hundred Leverets , things that will Bound like a dancer on the rope and kiss thee Into thy naturall complexion: A sinner that shall clime thee like a squirrell. Cou. And crack me like a Nutt. I ha no kernell To spare for her sweet tooth. Cap. That was a metaphor: hee's not desperate! Cou. Buoy, my deere Captaine. Cap. Enter a Footeman. Cou. How does my uncle? Fo.
He desires presentlie To speake with you at his lodging. Cou. Ile attend him. Enter Captaine Underwit and Thomas. Un. And hast thou been carefull of all those things I gave charge to be provided? Tho. There is a note of the particulars. Un. Tis very well done, Thomas. Let me see: Imprimis Tho. The Captaine wonot faile to be w'ee, sir.
Is he come? Sis. Sir, do me but one favour, ile recant My Love, I wonot have so much as one Good thought on you; I will neglect you, sir, Nay and abuse you, too, if you obscure But for three minutes. Cou. Ile have patience so long. Sis. Admitt him. I wilbe reveng'd o' somebody. Now, Sir. Enter Device. De. I ha brought you a weapon, Lady. La. Mee, what to do, Sir? De. Sis. My honour? De.
Ile walke no further; if you have a secret To impart, you need not feare this place; the trees And hedges will not listen. What's the business? I hope your phlegmatick stock of verse is spent. Cou. Why then in prose, the worst that I can speake in, I doe not love you, Lady. Sis. How? you ha not Traind me thus farr to tell me that? Cou.
Cap. Now the Newes, Sir Tristram. Tho. Oh the Gentleman is mad. Un. What gentleman? Tho. Why, Mr. Engine that did faint last night. Un. With feare of being hang'd for his projections. Cou. My Uncle told me of him. Cap. Let him to Bedlam then; what makes he here? Clean straw and a good whip are held restoratives. Tho.
I thanke you; Ile not be vext and squeez'd about a rime Or in a verse that's blanke, as I must be, Whine love unto a tune. Sis. This all your feare? Cou. No, I doe feare to loose my tyme, my businesse, And my witts too, jolting them all away To waite on you in prouder Coaches. Sis. Is this all? Cou.
How came you by'te? confesse before this Lady. De. Dost thinke her witts so limber to believe I could compell it from thee. Twas a trick, A meere conceipt of mirth; thou sha't ha mine. Dost thinke I stand upon a sword? Ile gi' thee A case of Pistolls when we come to London; And shoot me when I love thee not. Pox ont, Thou apprehende'st me well enough. Cou.
But if I thinke you worthy, and accept Your service, it destroies this other reason For your despaire. Why, I can praise you, too. Cou. No, lett it alone I have other reasons Lady Among my papers. But to love or to be in love Is to be guld; that's the plaine English of Cupids Latine.
With the fewest of rapid strokes, La Fontaine can raise up an unmistakable vision of any beast or bird, fish or reptile, that he has a mind to Un jour sur ses long pieds allait je ne sais où Le héron au long bec emmanché d'un long cou. Could there be a better description? And his fables are crowded with these life-like little vignettes.
Come, Master Engine, weele to horse imediately. Enter Courtwell, Sister and Device. Cou. So, we are fast enough, and now I have thee Ile tell thee all the fault I find; thou hast A little too much witt to bee a wife; It could not be too nimble for a Mistresse. Device, there is a part still of your pennance Behind.
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