BEAUFORT

Oh he's a dainty one. The Parasite of the house. To the light heart we hope. How came you by this property? Your Fly if you call him so. Just such a thing, We thought him, Of Stratford of the Bow. For Lilies Latin, is to him unknown. And do's it in the discipline of the house? As Corporal of the field, Maestro deal Campo, And means to publish it? One talks upon his tiptocs, if you'll hear him. They are matched i'saith. They side, not meet man, mend your metaphor, And save the credit of your Mathematics. Why that his Fly does for him here, your Bird. Wilt thou be flying, Fly? Not of fence, Fly. On the same earth I think, with other Mortals? The title only. If it had one of that quare What insolent, half-witted things, these are? They lightly go together. And never have the luck to be i'the right! Fortune's a Ba worser And a blind Beggar: it's their vanity! And shows most vilely! And persuade him die for same, Of fencing with a shadow! Where's mine Host? I would he had herd this bubble break, i'fayth. Make place, stand by, for the Queen Regent, Gentle men. Translated Prudence! I do confess my rudeness, that had needs To have mine eye directed to this beauty. Lady, your name? Laetitiam! a fair omen! And I take it. et me have still such Lettice for my lips: But that of your family, Lady? My Ladies kinswoman? What's this? and Antiquary? She'l conquer, If she read Vinncent. Let me study her. A Baud, I hope, and knows to blaze a coat. What is't? Proceed incomparable Pru! I am glad I am scarce at leisure to applaud thee. I am busy, pr'y thee let me alone: I have a cause in hearing too. Loves Court o'Requests! It's well enough Before this mistress of Requests, where it is. What's that? I am content too. I p 'y thee, do then, Schrich. Oh . She brings to mind the fable o'the Dragon, That kept the Hesperian fruit. Would I could charm her. Then I have read somewhere, that man and woman Were, in the first creation, both one piece, And being cleft asunder, ever since, Love was and appetite to be rejoined. As for example— Only, to kiss, and partly. Leap her? I lip her, foolish Queen at Arms, Thy blazon's false: wilt thou blaspheme thine office?) give me the body, if it be a good one. The battle o'the Centaur's, with the Lapiths! Yet, how he talked, and roared i'the beginning! So they did all at last, when Lovel went down, And chased hem bout the Court. Bravely expressed: A bouncing Bona-roba! as the Fly said. A fine species, Of sornicating with a men own wife, Found out by (what's his name?) And all your credits. I marry was it. Blow off her upper deck. Go thy ways Nic. Stuff, Thou hast nicked it for a fashioner of Venery! And after him, the tipe of Spanish valour. Servant, what have you there? Content. No? not sor reputation? Oh yes, it's profitable, and of use, It makes us fierce, and fit to undertake. To discompose himself. How do's that differ from true valour? But the ignorant valour That knows not why it undertakes, but does it Escape the infamy merely— Right: Truth, and right! Wake her not. In your own house, I do acknowledge: Else, I much had trespassed. But in and Inn, and public, where there is licence Of all community: a pardon of course May be sued out. She is that, secretary Pru. Your reign is ended, Pru, no sovereign now: Your date is out, and dignity expired. Good politic Pru, Urge not your state-advice, your afterwit; It's near upbraiding. Get our bed ready, Chamberlain, And Host, a Bridecup, you have rare conceits, And good ingredients, ever and old Host upon the road, has his provocative drinks. 'Twas well he herd you not, his back was turned. A bed, the Genial bed, a brace of boys To night I play for. Here take them, Pru, my codpiece point, and all, I have clasps, my Letice a mes here take them boys. What is the chamber ready? speak, why stare you! On one another? And why no? Ask his vicar general, His Fly, here. Stint, I say, Fiddlers. Nor coming on sweet Lady, things thus standing! Was that your plot, Fly? give me a cloak, take her again among you. I'll none of your light-Heart fosterlings, no Inmates, Supposititious fruits of and Host's bram ne, And his Flys hatching, to be put upon me. There is a royal Court o'the Starchamber Will scatter all these mists, disperse these vapours, And clear the truth. Let beggars match with beggars. That shall decide it, I will try it there. Th'age counts it so. Give me my wife, I own her now, and will have her. And in that cure, include my trespass, Mother, And Father, for my wife- Away with that, you sour the sweetest lettice Was ever tasted. And I as much. And, that do I; here my whole self, I tender, According to the practice o'the Court. I relish notthese philosophical feasts: Give me a banquet o'sense, Like that of Ovid: A form, to take the eye; a voice, mine care; Pure aromatiques, to my sent; a soft, Smooth, dainty hand, to touch; and, for my taste, Ambrosiack kisses, to melt down the palate.) And we do imitate—) A Buzzard! he is in his contemplation! Have the assistants of the Court their votes, And writ of privilege, to speak them freely? In every dish and pot?