Qua. They are mine own, no gleanèd poetry;
My fashion’s known. Out, rhyme; take’t as you list: 270
A fico[451] for the sour-brow’d Zoilist!
Music, tobacco, sack, and sleep,
The tide of sorrow backward keep.
If thou art sad at others’ fate,
Rivo,[452] drink deep, give care the mate.
On us the end of time is come,
Fond fear of that we cannot shun;
Whilst quickest sense doth freshly last,
Clip time about, hug pleasure fast.
The sisters ravel out our twine, 280
He that knows little ’s most divine.
Error deludes; who’ll beat this hence,—
Naught’s known but by exterior sense?
Let glory blazon others’ deed,
My blood than breath craves better meed.
Let twattling fame cheat others’ rest,
I am no dish for rumour’s feast.
Let honour others’ hope abuse,
I’ll nothing have, so nought will lose.
I’ll strive to be nor great nor small, 290
To live nor die; fate helmeth[453] all.
When I can breathe no longer, then
Heaven take all: there put Amen.
How is’t? how is’t?
Lav. Faith, so, so; tellement, quellement;
As ’t please opinion to current it.
Qua. Why, then, via! let’s walk.
Lav. I must give notice to an odd pedant, as we pass, of my nuptials: I use him, for he is obscure, and shall marry us in private. I have many enemies, but secresy is the best evasion from envy. 300
Qua. Holds it to-morrow?
Lav. Ay firm, absolute.
Lam. I’ll say amen if the priest be mute.