Wal. Well?
Heart. Tell me, prithee, which is likelier
To plough a sea in safety?—he that’s wont
To sail in it,—or he that by the chart
Is master of its soundings, bearings,—knows
Is headlands, havens, currents—where ’tis bold,
And where behoves to keep a good look-out.
The one will swim, where sinks the other one?
Wal. The drift of this?
Heart. Do you not guess it?
Wal. Humph!
Heart. If you would train a maid to live in town,
Breed her not in the country!
Wal. Say you so?
And stands she not the test?
Heart. As snow stands fire!
Your country maid has melted all away,
And plays the city lady to the height;
Her mornings gives to mercers, milliners,
Shoemakers, jewellers, and haberdashers;
Her noons, to calls; her afternoons, to dressing;
Evenings, to plays and drums; and nights, to routs,
Balls, masquerades! Sleep only ends the riot,
Which waking still begins!
Wal. I’m all amaze!
How bears Sir Thomas this?
Heart. Why, patiently;
Though one can see with pain.