Cata. Monsieur Sebastian! in good sooth very uprightly welcome this evening.
Sebas. What, moralizing upon this gentlewoman's needlework? Let's see.
Cata. No, sir. Only examining whether it be done to the true nature and life o' the thing.
Sebas. Here y' have set a medlar with a bachelor's button o' one side and a snail o' the tother. The bachelor's button should have held his head up more pertly towards the medlar: the snail o' the tother side should ha' been wrought with an artificial laziness, doubling his tail and putting out his horn but half the length. And then the medlar falling (as it were) from the lazy snail and ending towards the pert bachelor's button, their branches spreading and winding one within another as if they did embrace. But here's a moral. A poppring[166] pear tree growing upon the bank of a river seeming continually to look downwards into the water as if it were enamoured of it, and ever as the fruit ripens lets it fall for love (as it were) into her lap. Which the wanton stream, like a strumpet, no sooner receives but she carries it away and bestows it upon some other creature she maintains, still seeming to play and dally under the poppring so long that it has almost washed away the earth from the root, and now the poor tree stands as if it were ready to fall and perish by that whereon it spent all the substance it had.
Cata. Moral for you that love those wanton running waters.
Sebas. But is not my Lady Levidulcia come yet?
Cata. Her purpose promised us her company ere this. Sirrah, your lute and your book.
Sebas. Well said. A lesson o' the lute, to entertain the time with till she comes.