Mer. Now could I beat myself for a wise fool
That I was, thus to trust him. [Exit.
Chir. B' w' y', brother.
'Fore God, a good one. O, the gentleman! [Exit laughing.
SCENE V.
Rhymewell, Bagshot, Catchmey, Sir Christopher: a song at a window, congratulating (as they think) Master Meanwell's marriage.
1. Whiles early light springs from the skies
A fairer from your bride doth rue;
A brighter day doth thence appear,
And makes a second morning there.
Her blush doth shed
All o'er the bed
Clean shamefac'd beams,
That spread in streams,
And purple round the modest air.
2. I will not tell what shrieks and cries,
What angry pishes, and what fies,
What pretty oaths then newly born,
The list'ning taper heard there sworn:
Whiles froward she
Most peevishly
Did yielding fight
To keep o'er night,
What she'd have proffer'd you ere morn.
3. Fair, we know, maids do refuse
To grant what they do come to lose.
Intend a conquest, you that wed;
They would be chastely ravished.
Not any kiss
From Mistress Pris,
If that you do,
Persuade and woo:
Know pleasure's by extorting fed.
4. O, may her arms wax black and blue
Only by hard encircling you:
May she round about you twine,
Like the easy-twisting vine;
And whiles you sip
From her full lip
Pleasures as new
As morning dew,
Let those soft ties your hearts combine.
Singer. God give you joy, Master Meanwell!
God give your worship good morrow!