Jac. Apropos! I have been retrieving an old song of a lover, that was ever quarrelling with his mistress: I think it will fit our amour so well, that, if you please, I'll give it you for an epithalamium; and you shall sing it.
[Gives him a paper.
Wild. I never sung in all my life; nor ever durst try, when I was alone, for fear of braying.
Jac. Just me, up and down; but for a frolic, let's sing together; for I am sure, if we cannot sing now, we shall never have cause when we are married.
Wild. Begin then; give me my key, and I'll set my voice to't.
Jac. Fa la, fa la, fa la.
Wild. Fala, fala, fala. Is this your best, upon the faith of a virgin?
Jac. Ay, by the muses, I am at my pitch.
Wild. Then do your worst; and let the company be judge who sings worst.
Jac. Upon condition the best singer shall wear the breeches. Prepare to strip, sir; I shall put you into your drawers presently.
Wild. I shall be revenged, with putting you into your smock anon; St George for me.