The works of John Dryden, $c now first collected in eighteen volumes. $p Volume 06 eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 498 pages of information about The works of John Dryden, $c now first collected in eighteen volumes. $p Volume 06.

The works of John Dryden, $c now first collected in eighteen volumes. $p Volume 06 eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 498 pages of information about The works of John Dryden, $c now first collected in eighteen volumes. $p Volume 06.

Brain. I dwell not on your commendations.  What say you, sir? [To WOOD.] Is it not admirable?  Do you enter into it?

Wood. Most delicate cadence!

Brain. Gad, I think so, without vanity.  Battist and I have but one soul.  But the close, the close! [Sings it thrice over.] I have words too upon the air; but I am naturally so bashful!

Wood. Will you oblige me, sir?

Brain. You might command me, sir; for I sing too en cavalier: but—­

Limb. But you would be entreated, and say, Nolo, nolo, nolo, three times, like any bishop, when your mouth waters at the diocese.

Brain. I have no voice; but since this gentleman commands me, let the words commend themselves. [Sings.
  My Phillis is charming—­

Limb. But why, of all names, would you chuse a Phillis?  There have been so many Phillises in songs, I thought there had not been another left, for love or money.

Brain. If a man should listen to a fop! [Sings.
  My Phillis—­

Aldo. Before George, I am on t’other side:  I think, as good no song, as no Phillis.

Brain. Yet again!—­My Phillis—­ [Sings.

Limb. Pray, for my sake, let it be your Chloris.

Brain. [Looking scornfully at him.] My Phillis—­ [Sings.

Limb. You had as good call her your Succuba.

Brain. Morbleu! will you not give me leave?  I am full of Phillis. [Sings.] My Phillis—­

Limb. Nay, I confess, Phillis is a very pretty name.

Brain. Diable! Now I will not sing, to spite you.  By the world, you are not worthy of it.  Well, I have a gentleman’s fortune; I have courage, and make no inconsiderable figure in the world:  yet I would quit my pretensions to all these, rather than not be author of this sonnet, which your rudeness has irrevocably lost.

Limb. Some foolish French quelque chose, I warrant you.

Brain. Quelque chose! O ignorance, in supreme perfection! he means a kek shose[9].

Limb. Why a kek shoes let it be then! and a kek shoes for your song.

Brain. I give to the devil such a judge.  Well, were I to be born again, I would as soon be the elephant, as a wit; he’s less a monster in this age of malice.  I could burn my sonnet, out of rage.

Limb. You may use your pleasure with your own.

Wood. His friends would not suffer him:  Virgil was not permitted to burn his AEneids.

Brain. Dear sir, I’ll not die ungrateful for your approbation. [Aside to WOOD.] You see this fellow? he is an ass already; he has a handsome mistress, and you shall make an ox of him ere long.

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The works of John Dryden, $c now first collected in eighteen volumes. $p Volume 06 from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.