2 Cit. If I might have
But the honour to see you at my poor house, Sir,
A Capon bridled and sadled, I'le assure your worship,
A shoulder of Mutton and a pottle of Wine, Sir,
I know your Brother, he was like ye,
And shot the best at Buts—
1 Ush. A —— upon thee.
2 Cit. Some Musick I'le assure you too, My toy, Sir, can play o'th' Virginals.
1 Ush. Prethee good toy,
Take away thy shoulder of Mutton, it is flie-blown,
And shoulder take thy flap along, here's no place for ye;
Nay then you had best be knock'd. [Ex. Cit.
Enter Celia.
Cel. I wou'd fain see him,
The glory of this place makes me remember,
But dye those thoughts, dye all but my desires,
Even those to death are sick too; he's not here,
Nor how my eyes may guide me—
1 Ush. What's your business? Who keeps the outward door there? here's fine shuffling, You wastcoateer you must go back.
Cel. There is not,
There cannot be, six days and never see me?
There must not be desire; Sir, do you think
That if you had a Mistris—
1 Ush. Death, she is mad.
Cel. And were yourself an honest man? it cannot—