Serv. There comes a Cupid
Drawn by six fools.
Bas. That's nothing.
Pas. Help it, help it then.
Bas. I ha' known six hundred fools drawn by a Cupid.
Pas. I that, that, that's the smarter Moral: ha, ha, ha.
Now I begin to be Song-ripe methinks.
Bas. I'll sing you a pleasant Air Sir, before you ebb.
SONG.
Pas. Oh how my Lungs do tickle! ha, ha, ha.
Bas. Oh how my Lungs do tickle! oh, oh, ho, ho.
Pas. Sings.