Pa. Proclivity, good youth? I thank you for your courtly proclivity.
Bal. Approach, good sir. I did send for you to draw me a device, an Imprezza, by Synecdoche a Mott. By
Phœbus’ crimson taffeta mantle, I think I speak as melodiously,—look you, sir, how think you on’t? I would have you paint me, for my device, a good fat leg of ewe mutton, swimming in stewed broth of plums (boy, keel[160] your mouth, it runs over) and the word[161] shall be, Hold my dish, whilst I spill my pottage. Sure, in my conscience, ’twould be the most sweet device, now. 25
Pa. ’Twould scent of kitchen-stuff too much.
Bal. God’s neaks, now I remember me, I ha’ the rarest device in my head that ever breathed. Can you paint me a driveling reeling song, and let the word be, Uh. 30
Pa. A belch?
Bal. O, no no: Uh, paint me Uh, or nothing.
Pa. It cannot be done, sir, but by a seeming kind of drunkenness.
Bal. No? well, let me have a good massy ring, with your own posy graven in it, that must sing a small treble, word for word, thus:
And if you will[162] my true lover be,
Come follow me to the green wood.