Old Mer. "Go from my window, love, go;
Go from my window, my dear,
The wind and the rain will drive you back again,
You cannot be lodgéd here."
Hark you, Mistress Merry-thought, you that walk upon adventures, and forsake your husband because he sings with never a penny in his purse; what, shall I think myself the worse? Faith no, I'll be merry. You come not here, here's none but lads of mettle, lives of a hundred years and upwards; care never drunk their bloods, nor want made them warble,
"Heigh-ho, my heart is heavy."
Mist. Mer. Why, Master Merry-thought, what am I that you should laugh me to scorn thus abruptly? Am I not your fellow-feeler, as we may say, in all our miseries? your comforter in health and sickness? Have I not brought you children? Are they not like you, Charles? Look upon thine own image, hard-hearted man; and yet for all this——
Old Mer. [within.] "Begone, begone, my juggy, my puggy,
Begone, my love, my dear;
The weather is warm,