Mir. Dear love, come sit thee in my lap,
And let me try if I can enclose thy world
Of fat and love within these arms:
See, I cannot nigh encompass my
Desires by a mile.
Ping. How is my fat a rival to my joys! [Cries.
Sure, I shall weep it all away.
Mir. Lie still, my babe, lie still and sleep,
It grieves me sore to see thee weep:
Wer't thou but leaner, I were glad;
Thy fatness makes thy dear love sad.
What a lump of love have I in my arms!
Ping. Nay, if I had not taken all these courses
To dissolve myself into thy embraces,
One would think my looking on thee
Were enough; for I never see thee but
I am like a fat piece of beef roasting
At the fire, continually drop, drop, drop.
There's ne'er a feature in thy face, or
Part about thee, but has cost me many
A pint of fat, with thinking on thee;
And yet not to be lean enough for
Thy husband—O fate! O fate!
O fat! [She lets him fall.
Mir. O Lord, sir, I have let you fall,
How shall I do to get you up again!
Ping. Nay, that is more than all the world can tell.
Mir. I'll e'en lie down by thee then.
Ping. Nay,
But prythee lie near me; thou hadst
As good lie a league off, as that distance.
Mir. Were I thy wife, fat love, I would.
She sings.