Ditty. The King of Morocco has got the black jaundice, and the Duke of Westphalia is sick of the swine-pox with eating bacon; the Moors increase daily, and the King of Cyprus mourns for the Duke of Saxony, that is dead of the stone; and Presbyter John is advanced to Zealand; the sea ebbs and flows but twice in four-and-twenty hours, and the moon has changed but once the last month.
Gum. Hold, hold! here's enough to tire the dove's neck, before she gets home.
Enter Budget.
Bud. Well, I must strike whilst the iron's hot. Good Vulcan, be assistant, and grant that some spark of love may be kindled in her heart, and that I may with my compliments, as with the bellows of rhetoric, blow the coals of good-will, and with my forked arguments stir up the fire of affection in her! I have been filing my nose and anviling down my chin this two days, and yet just now there was scarce room enough for her sweet lips and mine to meet. She calls me Vulcan and Cyclops, and says I shall be hanged up for the sign of the Black Boy. But 'tis no matter. It may be, when she calls me Vulcan, she would have me make her my Venus!
Ditty. Who is this trough that he is about to run away with?
Bud. Well, I'll try both ways.
Ditty. How now, Budget? Can you sing your ballad yet? Come, are you perfect?
Bud. Not yet, Ditty; but is't to the tune o' th' Bleeding Heart, do you say?
Ditty. Ay, ay; but what makes you so pale, Budget? There's a cup of ale at mine host Welcome's will make your nose of another colour.
Bud. O Ditty, there is a nail knocked into my heart! It pricks, it pricks.