The Mad Lover Part 8

_Si._ Do but this one thing, on my knees I beg it, Stay but two hours till I return again.

For I will to her, tell her all your merits, Your most unvalu'd love, and last your danger; If she relent, then live still, and live loving, Happy, and high in favour: if she frown--

_Mem._ Shall I be sure to know it?

_Si._ As I live, Sir, My quick return shall either bring ye fortune, Or leave you to your own fate.

_Mem._ Two hours?

_Si._ Yes, Sir.

_Mem._ Let it be kept, away, I will expect it. [_Ex._ Mem. Si.

_Enter_ Chilax, _Fool and Boy_.

_Chi._ You dainty wits! two of ye to a Cater, To cheat him of a dinner?

_Boy._ Ten at Court, Sir, Are few enough, they are as wise as we are.

_Chi._ Hang ye, I'le eat at any time, and any where, I never make that part of want, preach to me What ye can do, and when ye list.

_Fool._ Your patience, 'Tis a hard day at Court, a fish day.

_Chi._ So it seems, Sir, The fins grow out of thy face.

_Fool._ And to purchase This day the company of one dear Custard, Or a mess of Rice ap _Thomas_, needs a main wit; Beef we can bear before us lined with Brewes And tubs of Pork; vociferating Veals, And Tongues that ne're told lye yet.

_Chi._ Line thy mouth with 'em.

_Fool._ Thou hast need, and great need, For these finny fish-dayes, The Officers understandings are so flegmatick, They cannot apprehend us.

_Chi._ That's great pity, For you deserve it, and being apprehended The whip to boot; Boy what do you so near me?

I dare not trust your touch Boy.

_Enter_ Stremon _and his Boy_.

_Boy._ As I am vertuous, What, thieves amongst our selves?

_Chi._ _Stremon._

_Stre._ Lieutenant.

_Chi._ Welcome a sh.o.r.e, a sh.o.r.e.

_Fool._ What _Mounsieur Musick_?

_Stre._ My fine Fool.

_Boy._ Fellow _Crack_, why what a consort Are we now blest withal?

_Fool._ Fooling and fidling, Nay and we live not now boys; what new songs, Sirra?

_Stre._ A thousand, man, a thousand.

_Fool._ Itching Airs Alluding to the old sport.

_Stre._ Of all sizes.

_Fool._ And how does small _Tym Treble_ here; the heart on't?

_2 Boy._ To do you service.

_Fool._ O _Tym_ the times, the times _Tym_.

_Stre._ How does the General, And next what money's stirring?

_Chi._ For the General He's here, but such a General!

The time's chang'd, _Stremon_, He was the liberal General, and the loving, The feeder of a Souldier, and the Father, But now become the stupid'st.

_Stre._ Why, what ails he?

_Chi._ Nay, if a Horse knew, and his head's big enough, I'le hang for't; did'st thou ever see a Dog Run mad o'th' tooth-ache, such another toy Is he now, so he glotes and grins, and bites.

_Fool._ Why hang him quickly, And then he cannot hurt folks.

_Chi._ One hour raving, Another smiling, not a word the third hour, I tell thee _Stremon_ h'as a stirring soul, What ever it attempts or labours at Would wear out twenty bodies in another.

_Fool._ I'le keep it out of me, for mine's but Buckram, He would bownce that out in two hours.

_Chi._ Then he talks The strangest and the maddest stuff from reason, Or any thing ye offer; stand thou there, I'le show thee how he is, for I'le play _Memnon_ The strangest General that ere thou heardst of, _Stremon_.

_Stre._ My Lord.

_Chi._ Go presently and find me A black Horse with a blew tail; bid the blank Cornet Charge through the Sea, and sink the Navy: softly, Our souls are things not to be waken'd in us With larums, and loud bawlings, for in _Elyzium_ Stilness and quietness, and sweetness, Sirra, I will have, for it much concerns mine honour, Such a strong reputation for my welcome As all the world shall say: for in the forefront So many on white Unicorns, next them My Gentlemen, my Cavaliers and Captains, Ten deep and trapt with Tenter-hooks to take hold Of all occasions: for Friday cannot fish out The end I aim at; tell me of _Diocles_, And what he dares do? dare he meet me naked?

Thunder in this hand? in his left--Fool--

_Fool._ Yes, Sir.

_Chi._ Fool, I would have thee fly i'th' Air, fly swiftly To that place where the Sun sets, there deliver.

_Fool._ Deliver? what, Sir?

_Chi._ This Sir, this ye slave, Sir, [_All laugh._ Death ye rude Rogues, ye Scarabe's.

_Fool._ Hold for Heav'ns sake, Lieutenant, sweet Lieutenant.

_Chi._ I have done, Sir.

_Boy._ You have wrung his neck off.