Ca[m]. We'l leave ye then, and a sweet night wait upon ye.
Men. And a sweet issue of this sweet night crown ye.
Cle. All nights and days be such till you grow old Sir.
[Exeunt Lords.
Val. I thank ye, 'tis a curse sufficient for me,
A labour'd one too, though you mean a blessing.
What shall I do? I am like a wretched Debtor,
That has a summe to tender on the forfeit
Of all he is worth, yet dare not offer it.
Other men see the Sun, yet I must wink at it;
And though I know 'tis perfect day, deny it:
My veins are all on fire, and burn like Ætna,
Youth and desire beat larums to my blood,
And adde fresh fuel to my warm affections.
I must injoy her, yet when I consider,
When I collect my self, and weigh her danger,
The tyrants will, and his power taught to murther,
My tender care controlls my blood within me,
And like a cold fit of a peevish Ague
Creeps to my soul, and flings an Ice upon me,
Enter Queen, Evanthe, Ladies, and Fool.
That locks all powers of youth up: but prevention—
O what a blessedness 'twere to be old now,
To be unable, bed-rid with diseases,
Or halt on Crutches to meet holy Hymen;
What a rare benefit! but I am curst,
That that speaks other men most freely happy,
And makes all eyes hang on their expectations,
Must prove the bane of me, youth, and ability.
She comes to bed, how shall I entertain her?
Tony. Nay I come after too, take the fool with ye,
For lightly he is ever one at Weddings.
Queen. Evanthe, make ye unready, your Lord staies for ye,
And prethee be merry.