Cou. No, I doe feare to loose my tyme, my businesse, And my witts too, jolting them all away To waite on you in prouder Coaches.
Sis. Is this all?
Cou. To spend my selfe to nothing and be laugh'd at
By all the world when I shall come at last
To this reward for all my services,
To bee your lay Court Chaplaine and say gravely
A hastie grace before your windowes breakfast.
Sis. But how
Came you thus cur'd? You were a passionate
(I may say) foole, in hope you will deserve it.
What phisick tooke you that hath thus restor'd you?
Cou. A little sack had power to cure this madnes.
Sis. I hope you are not sober yet, the humour May change when you ha slept.
Cou. Ile rather stick My Eyelids up with Sisters[269] thread and stare Perpetually.
Sis. Then you may see me agen.
Cou. I thinke I sha'not, unless it be to wonder,
When you are in the Ivie bush, that face
Cut upon Tafata, that creame and prunes,
So many plums in white broth, that scutcheon of
Pretence powderd with ermines. Now I looke upon't,
With those black patches it does put me in mind
Of a white soule with sinns upon't, and frights me.
How sell you grapes? Your haire[270] does curle in bunches;
You[r] lipps looke like the parsons glebe, full of
Red, blew and yellow flowers; how they are chopt
And looke like trenches made to draine the meadowe.
Sis. This rudenes Is beyond the manners of a gentleman.