EYES

Or eyes? We come to spy. It may be. We may spy out, that, which you never meant. Yes. We needs no interpreter, on, what of Time? His days of feast, and liberty again. Slaves of their lords. This will be better. I spy it coming, peace, all the impostures, The prodigies, diseases, and distempers, The knaveries of the Time, we shall see all now. My four eyes itch for it. That which the Time is presently to show us. This Man ofwarre i'the rear, He is both Trumpet And Champion to his Muse. Now Fame, how Like you this? And this will deify him, to despite you. What gambols? what devises? what new sports? Pox, then it's nothing. I had now a fancy We might have talked of the King. Censured the counsel, ever they censure us. No, the Man In the moon dance a Corranto, his bush At's back, a fire; and his dog piping Lachrimae. What? And talking of all men they never herd of, And, when the matter is at hottest, then All fallen a sleep. Oh, that we shall never do. Hath been oft called from it, to be their Lord of misrule. Yes Fame must know him, all the Town admires him. We know, Sir: but the Time's now come about. We shall do what we list. You'll see. That he ha favourers, Fame, and great ones too, That unctuous Bounty, is the Boffe of Belinsgate, She labours, and lies in of his inventions, And is no sooner foaled, but will neigh sulphur: The ragged rascals? Mere rogues, you' world thinke'em rogues, but they are friends, One is his Printer in disguise, and keeps His press in a hollow tree, where to conceal him, He works by glowworm light, the Moon's too open. The other zealous Rag is the Compositor, Who in and angle, where the ants inhabit, (The Emblem's of his Labours) will fit curled Whole days, and nights, and work his eyes out for him. To little, or no purpose. But see, there be no cause, as you will answer it. Why, if not those, then something to make sport. Or impossible.