And.  Are you come, old Master?  Very good, your Horse is well set up; but ere you part, I’ll ride you, and spur your Reverend Justiceship such a question, as I shall make the sides of your Reputation bleed, truly I will.  Now must I play at Bo-peep—­A Banquet—­well, Potatoes and Eringoes, and, as I take it, Cantharides—­Excellent, a Priapism follows, and as I’ll handle it, it shall, old Lecherous Goat in Authority.  Now they begin to Bill; how he slavers her!  Gramercy Lilly, she spits his kisses out, and now he offers to fumble, she falls off, (that’s a good Wench) and cries fair play above board.  Who are they in the corner?  As I live, a covy of Fidlers; I shall have some Musick yet at my making free o’th’ Company of Horners; there’s the comfort, and a Song too!  He beckons for one—­Sure ’tis no Anthem, nor no borrow’d Rhymes out of the School of Vertue; I will listen—­ [A Song.  This was never penn’d at Geneva, the Note’s too sprightly.  So, so, the Musick’s paid for, and now what follows?  O that Monsieur Miramont would but keep his word; here were a Feast to make him fat with laughter; at the most ’tis not six minutes riding from his house, nor will he break, I hope—­O are you come, Sir? the prey is in the Net, and will break in upon occasion.

Mir.  Thou shalt rule me, Andrew.  O th’infinite fright that will assail this Gentleman! the Quartans, Tertians, and Quotidians that will hang like Serjeants on his Worships shoulders? the humiliation of the flesh of this man, this grave, austere man will be wondred at.  How will those solemn looks appear to me; and that severe face, that speaks chains and shackles?  Now I take him in the nick, e’re I have done with him, he had better have stood between two panes of Wainscot, and made his recantation in the Market, than hear me conjure him.

And.  He must pass this way to th’ only Bed I have; he comes, stand close.

Bri.  Well done, well done, give me my night-cap.  So.  Quick, quick, untruss me; I will truss and trounce thee.  Come, Wench, a kiss between each point; kiss close, it is a sweet Parenthesis.

Lil. Y’are merry, Sir.

Bri. Merry I will be anon, and thou shalt feel it, thou shalt, my Lilly.

Lil. Shall I air your Bed, Sir?

Bri. No, no; I’ll use no Warming-pan but thine, Girl, that’s all.  Come kiss me again.

Lil. Ha’ye done yet?

Bri. No; but I will do, and do wonders, Lilly.  Shew me the way.

Lil. You cannot miss it, Sir; you shall have a Cawdle in the morning for your Worship’s breakfast.

Bri. How, i’th’ morning, Lilly? th’art such a witty thing to draw me on.  Leave fooling, Lilly, I am hungry now, and th’hast another Kickshaw, I must taste it.

Lil. ’Twill make you surfeit, I am tender of you:  y’have all y’are like to have.