Griz. Ah! speak that o'er again, and let the[1] sound
From one pole to another pole rebound;
The earth and sky each be a battledore,
And keep the sound, that shuttlecock, up an hour:
To Doctors' Commons for a licence I
Swift as an arrow from a bow will fly.
[Footnote 1:
Let the four winds from distant corners meet,
And on their wings first bear it into France;
Then back again to Edina's proud walls,
Till victim to the sound th' aspiring city falls.
—Albion Queens.
]
Hunc. Oh, no! lest some disaster we should meet 'Twere better to be married at the Fleet.
Griz. Forbid it, all ye powers, a princess should
By that vile place contaminate her blood;
My quick return shall to my charmer prove
I travel on the [1]post-horses of love.
[Footnote 1: I do not remember any metaphors so frequent in the tragic poets as those borrowed from riding post:
The gods and opportunity ride post.—Hannibal.
——Let's rush together,
For death rides post!—Duke of Guise.
Destruction gallops to thy murder post.—Gloriana.
]
Hunc. Those post-horses to me will seem too slow Though they should fly swift as the gods, when they Ride on behind that post-boy, Opportunity.