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And with one more longing, lingering look at the scenes which he had quitted for a lot like that of the Duke of Buckingham's dog, upon whom his master pronounced the maledictory wish that "he were married and lived in the country," this characteristic letter concludes: "Oh, Lord! now are you going to Ranelagh to-night, and I am sitting sorrowful as the prophet was when the voice cried out to him and said, 'What do'st thou here, Elijah? 'Tis well that the spirit does not make the same at Coxwold, for unless for the few sheep left me to take care of in the wilderness, I might as well, nay, better, be at Mecca.
Yes, & meane what you know, sir. Hen. What's that? Buz. Ile keepe your Counsaile Hen. My life goes for it else. Actus Quartus. Hen. Buzzano! slave! Buzzano! Enter Buzzano with Cloake & Rapier. Buz. Signior, what a buzzing you make, as if you were a fly at Bartholomew-tyde at a Butchers stall: doe you think I am deafe? Hen. No, but blind; do'st sleepe as thou goest? Buz.
Enter Lord Plotwell, and Bellmour. Lord. Do'st thou not wish to know the Joys that are to be found in a Woman, Frank? I well remember at thy Age I fancy'd a thousand fine things of that kind. Bel. Ay, my Lord, a thousand more perhaps than are to be found. Lord.
"The Spaniard has been my least enemy; more cruel than arms, a pestilence has risen among us; no funeral is without another; the dying never perish by a single death. "Fortune! why do'st thou hesitate? By what reward do'st thou detain the manes mingled in blood? "Who, dying, will, after the destruction of the enemy, occupy these tombs? This is enquired. The contest is only for sterile dust."
Please me! what please me? that I send thee, Girle, To some of my great Masters to beg for me. Didst thou meane so? Daught. I meane, Sir Bar. Thou art too charitable To prostitute thy beutie to releeve me; With thy soft kisses to redeeme from fetters The stubborne fortune of thy wretched father. Daught. I understand ye not. Bar. I hope thou do'st not. Daught. My Lady Mother, Sir Bar.
There is nothing improper in it, said my father 'tis a mode of expression; for in saying thou would'st lay thy Montero-cap to a shilling all thou meanest is this that thou believest Now, What do'st thou believe? That widow Wadman, an' please your worship, cannot hold it out ten days And whence, cried Slop, jeeringly, hast thou all this knowledge of woman, friend?
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