Before the revels of this night have end.
Prevent my entering to this marriage-bed;
Or by the memory of Lucretia's knife,
Ere morn I'll die a virgin, though a wife.
[Exit.
Scud. Pish! do: the world will have one mischief less.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
Enter Sir Abraham Ninny, throwing down his bowl.
Abra. Bowl they that list, for I will bowl no more.
Cupid, that little bowler, in my breast
Rubs at my heart, and will not let me rest.
[Within: Rub, rub, fly, fly.[35]
Ay, ay, you may cry Rub, fly, to your bowls,
For you are free: love troubles not your jowls,
But from my head to heel, from heel to heart:
Behind, before, and roundabout I smart.
Then in this arbour, sitting all alone,
In doleful ditty let me howl my moan.
O boy![36] leave pricking, for I vail my bonnet:[37]
Give me but breath, while I do write a sonnet.
Enter Pendant.
Pen. I have lost my money, and Sir Abraham too. Yonder he sits at his muse, by heaven, drowned in the ocean of his love. Lord! how he labours, like a hard-bound poet whose brains had a frost in 'em. Now it comes.
Abra. I die, I sigh.