_Bri._ All the world, I think, conspires to vex me, yet I will not torment
my self: some sprightful mirth must banish the rage and melancholy which
hath almost choak'd me; t' a knowing man 'tis Physick, and 'tis thought
on; one merry hour I'll have in spight of Fortune, to chear my heart, and
this is that appointed; this night I'll hug my _Lilly_ in mine arms,
provocatives are sent before to chear me, we old men need 'em,
and though we pay dear for our stoln pleasures, so it be done securely,
the charge much like a sharp sauce, gives 'em relish. Well, honest
_Andrew_, I gave you a Farm, and it shall have a Beacon, to give warning
to my other Tenants when the Foe approaches; and presently, you being
bestowed else-where, I'le graff it with dexterity on your forehead; indeed
I will, _Lilly_, I come, poor _Andrew_. [Exit.
ACTUS IV. SCENA II.
_Enter_ Miramont, Andrew.
_Mir._ Do they [chafe] roundly?
_And._ As they were rubb'd with Soap, Sir, and now they swear aloud, now
calm again; like a Ring of Bells, whose sound the wind still alters, and
then they sit in counsel what to do, and then they jar again what shall be
done; they talk of Warrants from the Parliament, Complaints to the King,
and Forces from the Province; they have a thousand heads in a thousand
minutes, yet ne'er a one head worth a head of Garlick.
_Mir._ Long may they chafe, and long may we laugh at 'em; a couple of pure
Puppies yok'd together.
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