Sci. Now, this being since the space
Of three times sending from place to place,
Between Wit and his man, I hear no more
Neither of Wit, nor his love so sore!
How think you by this, my own dear mother?
Exp. Daughter! in this I can think none other
But that it is true—this proverb old:
Hasty love is soon hot, and soon cold!
Take heed, daughter! how you put your trust
To light lovers, too hot at the first!
For had this love of Wit been grounded,
And on a sure foundation founded,
Little void time would have been between ye
But that this Wit would have sent or seen ye.
Sci. I think so.
Exp. Yea; think ye so or no,
Your mother, Experience, proof shall show
That Wit hath set his love, I dare say—
And make ye warrantise!—another way.
[Wit cometh before.
[Wit.] But your warrantise warrant no troth!
Fair lady! I pray you be not wroth
Till you hear more; for, dear Lady Science!
Had your lover, Wit—yea, or Confidence,
His man—been in health all this time spent,
Long or this time Wit had come or sent;
But the truth is, they have been both sick,
Wit and his man: yea, and with pains thick
Both stayed by the way, so that your lover
Could neither come nor send by none other.
Wherefore blame not him, but chance of sickness!
Sci. Who is this?
Exp. Ingnorancy, or his likeness.
Sci. What, the common fool?
Exp. It is much like him.