Alb. Ten thousand duckets, too, to boot, are laid.
Lav. Why, then, wind cornets, lead on, jolly lad.
Alb. Excuse me, gallants, though my legs lead wrong,
’Tis my first footing; wind out nimble tongue. 361
Duke. ’Tis well, ’tis well:—how shall we spend this night?
Qua. Gulp Rhenish wine, my liege; let our paunch rent;
Suck merry jellies; preview, but not prevent,
No mortal can, the miseries of life.
Alb. I home invite you all. Come, sweet, sweet wife.
My liege, vouchsafe thy presence.
Drink, till the ground look blue, boy!
Qua. Live still in springing hopes, still in fresh new joys!—
May your loves happy hit in fair-cheek’d wives, 370
Your flesh still plump with sapp’d restoratives.
That’s all my honest frolic heart can wish.
A fico for the mew and envious pish!
Till night, I wish good food and pleasing day;
But then sound rest. So ends our slight-writ play.
[Exeunt.
Deo op: max: gratias.
END OF VOL. II.