"With thee, the barren blocks, where not a bit
Of human face is painted on the bark,
Look green as Covent-garden in the spring."
Luck. Green as Covent-garden!
Mar. jun. Yes, yes; Covent-garden market, where they sell greens.
Luck. Monstrous!
Mar. sen. Pray, sir, read on.
Luck.
"LEANDRA: oh, my Harmonio, I could hear thee still;
The nightingale to thee sings out of tune,
While on thy faithful breast my head reclines,
The downy pillow's hard; while from thy lips
I drink delicious draughts of nectar down,
Falernian wines seem bitter to my taste."
Mar. jun. Here's meat, drink, singing, and lodging, egad.
Luck. He answers.
Mar. jun. But, sir——