Strange. Strange and most fortunate, we must have a new Tuck then.
C. Fred. Is it a match?
Luc. 'Tis done.
C. Fred. Then Bacchus squeeze grapes with a plenteous hand.
Parson, you'll take some pains with us to-night.
Come, brothers, come: fly, willow, to the woods,
And, like the sea, for healths let's drink whole floods.
Strange. I consecrate my deed unto the city,
And hope to live myself to see the day,
It shall be shown to people in a play.
Scud. And may all true love have like happy end.
Women, forgive me; men, admire my friend.
Sir J. Wor. On, parson, on; and, boy, outvoice the music.[68]
Ne'er was so much (what cannot heavenly powers?)
Done and undone, and done in twelve short hours,
[Exeunt.