Cast. What bears he,
That's born on Princes shoulders?
Vil. A Crowns weight,
Which sets more heavy on his head, than the Oar
Slaves dig out of the Mines, of which 'tis made.
Cast. Thou worthily art his fool, to think that heavy
That carries him in the air; the reverence due
To that most sacred Gold, makes him ador'd,
His Footsteps kist, his smiles to raise a begger
To a Lords fortune; and when he but frowns,
The City quakes.
Vil. Or the poor Cuckolds in it,
Coxcombs I should say, I am of a fool,
Grown a Philosopher, to hear this parasite.
Cast. The delicates he is serv'd with see and envy.
Vil. I had rather have an Onion with a stomack,
Than these without one.
Cast. The Celestial Musick,
Such as the motion of the eternal sphears [Still musick.
Yields Jove, when he drinks Nectar.
Vil. Here's a fine knave, yet hath too many fellows.
Cast. Then the beauties,
That with variety of ch[oy]ce embraces, [These pass o'r.
Renew his age.
Vil. Help him to crouch rather,
And the French Cringe, they are excellent Surgeons that way.