Sir Cred. What think you of a silent Serenade? Zoz, say but the word and it shall be done, Man, let me alone for Frolicks, i’faith.
Lod. A silent one! no, that’s to wear a good humour to the Stumps; I wou’d have this want for no Noise; the extremes of these two Addresses will set off one another.
Sir Cred. Say you so? what think you then of the Bagpipe, Tongs, and Gridiron, Cat-calls, and loud-sounding Cymbals?
Lod. Naught, naught, and of known use; you might as well treat her with Viols and Flute-doux, which were enough to disoblige her for ever.
Sir Cred. Why, what think you then of the King of Bantam’s own Musick.
Lod. How! the King of Bantam’s Musick?
Sir Cred. Ay, Sir, the King of Bantam’s: a Friend of mine had a Present sent him from thence, a most unheard of curiosity I’ll assure you.
Lod. That, that by all means, Sir.
Sir Cred. Well, I’ll go borrow ’em presently.
Lod. You must provide your self of a Song.