Wit. What art thou, Will?
Will. A babe of natures brood.
Wit. Who was thy syre?
Will. Sweet lust, as lovers say.
Wit. Thy mother who?
Will. Wild lustie wanton blood.
Wit. When wert thou borne?
Will. In merrie moneth of May.
Wit. And where brought up?
Will. In schoole of little skill.
Wit. What learndst thou there?
Will. Love is my Lesson still.
Wit. Where readst thou that?
Will. In lines of sweete delight.
Wit. The author who?
Will. Desire did draw the booke.
Wit. Who teacheth? Will. Time.
Wit. What order? Will. Lovers right.
Wit. What's that? Will.
To catch Content, by hooke or crooke.
Wit. Where keepes he schoole?
Will. In wildernesse of wo.
Wit. Why lives he there?
Will. The fates appoint it so.
Wit. Why did they so?
Will. It was their secret will.
Wit. What was their will?
Will. To worke fond lovers wo.
Wit. What was their woe?
Will. By spite their sport to spill.
Wit. What was their sport?
Will. Dame Nature best doth know.
Wit. How grows their spite?
Will. By want of wish.
Wit. What's that?
Will. Wit knowes right well,
Will may not tell thee what.
Wit. Then, Will, adue.
Will. Yet stand me in some steed.
Wit. Wherewith, sweete Will?
Will. Alas, by thine advise.
Wit. Whereto, good Will?
Will. To win my wish with speed.
Wit. I know not how.
Will. Oh Lord, that Will were wise.
Wit. Wouldst thou be wise?
Will. Ful fain, then come from schoole.
Wit. Take this of Wit:
Love learns to play the foole.
Will. Content, I wil come from Schoole, I wil give over Artem Amandi, and I will with thee to some more worthie study, which may be as well to my commoditie, comfort, as content. Wit. Well said, Will, now I like thee well; and, therefore, now I will do my best to worke thy delight. But for that now I have a peece of worke in hand, which none must be privie too, till it be finished; we will heere leave off talke, and fall to our worke togither, so I shall the sooner and the better dispatch it.
Will. Content, You shall have my helpe in it, or any other thing, wherein I may stand you in steed. And since you are so glad of my company, we will live and die togither. Wit. Gramercie, good Will; and meane time let us pray God to prosper our worke; let us have care how we worke; what, when, and where we worke, that we may find it commodious, not contrarie to Gods will, contentive to the best, offensive to fewe or none; let the matter be vertuous, so shall he prove famous. Will. Good Wit, I thanke thee for thy good counsaile; God give us His grace to doo so. I am glad to see thee so well bent; now I must needs love thee; thou wert never wont to be so well minded. Wit. Better late than never; it is good to be honest, though a man had forsworne it; there is no time too late to thrive. Will. True; and I promise thee now, I hope I shall doo well by the comfortable counsaile of so good a friend. God be thanked, the old vaine is gone. Stet pro ratione voluntas, Sum Juvenis fruar hoc mundo, Senex colam pietatem. Omnia vincit amor. Faint heart never woon faire lady. Let us be merrie while we are here; when we are gone, all the world goes with us; let them take care that come after. A man is a man, if he have but a hose on his head. Oh che bella donna? favor della Signora, oh dolce amore, La Sennora et spada, senza estos nada, Perle Amor de dieu: Beau damoiselle; oh brave huom; Che gallante cheval? il faut avoire come? That makes no matter; then sweetes had no sower; but now Wit, oh Will, dost thou remember all this? I pray thee forget all, and think no more of such things. I am sorie that ever they were in my heart, but now thou shall see we will do well inough: we will take another way, to both our comforts. We will to Care, and intreate him to lend us his helpe, for without him, indeed we shall make an ilfavoured ende, of what we begin untowardly. I promise thee, I heard the pretiest song betwixt him and Miserie that I heard a good while: if thou wilt set it downe in writing, I will recite it unto thee. Wit. Contented, right willingly, and thank thee too. Will. Then loe thus it was.
The Song betweene Miserie and Care.
M. What art thou, Care?
C. A secret skil unseene.
M. Who was thy syre?
C. Sound Wisdome. M. Mother who?
C. Devise. M. And who thy nurse?
C. Delight I weene.
M. When wert thou borne?
C. In harvest. M. What to do?
C. To worke? M. With whom?
C. With Wit and honest Will.
M. What worke? C. In graine,
To gleane the good from ill.