Sir quin. Agreed, set on, come good Sir Vaughan, must we lead the way?
Sir Vau. Peeter you goe too fast for Mistris pride: so, gingerly, gingerly; I muse why Sir Adam Prickeshaft sticks so short behinde?
Sir quin. He follows close, not too fast, holde vp knaues,
Thus we lead youth to church, they vs to graues.
Exeunt.
Horrace sitting in a study behinde a Curtaine, a candle by him burning, bookes lying confusedly: to himselfe.
Hor. To thee whose fore-head swels with Roses,
Whose most haunted bower
Giues life & sent to euery flower,
Whose most adored name incloses,
Things abstruse, deep and diuine,
Whose yellow tresses shine,
Bright as Eoan fire.
O me thy Priest inspire.
For I to thee and thine immortall name,
In—in—in golden tunes,
For I to thee and thine immortall name—
In—sacred raptures flowing, flowing, swimming, swimming:
In sacred raptures swimming,
Immortal name, game, dame, tame, lame, lame, lame,
Pux, hath, shame, proclaime, oh—
In Sacred raptures flowing, will proclaime, not—
O me thy Priest inspyre!
For I to thee and thine immortall name,
In flowing numbers fild with spright and flame,
Good, good, in flowing numbers fild with spright & flame.
Enter Asinius Bubo.
Asini. Horace, Horace, my sweet ningle, is alwayes in labour when I come, the nine Muses be his midwiues I pray Jupiter: Ningle.
Ho. In flowing numbers fild with sprite and flame,
To thee.