Than this one thing, and that so constantly
That even the habit and the practice of it
Are scarce employment; that I should grow grey,
And see the wide and seasonable field
Of life’s exertion and excitement fallow
With this one weed of love?
Oth.A weed, you say!
Pop. I have other motions in me. I’ve an itch
Men call ambition, and I see a prize
Looks worth the having.