ACT IV., SCENE 1.

_Enter_ MADAM FRICASE, MADAM CAVEARE, MADAM JULIPPE, MADAM JOCULETTE, MADAM MEDLAR, MADAM TINDER.

FRI. How tedious morns these be in our expectance Of what we tender most?

CAV. Credit me, madam, My marriage-day from th' rising sun to night Seem'd not so long, though it was long enough-- As the slow-running course of this morn's visit.

JUL. Desires cannot endure protractive hours; The poet has confirm'd our thoughts in this, Placing our action far below our wish: "Sooner quenched is love's fire With fruition than desire."

JOC. That poet surely was neither Mantuan, Lucian, nor Claudian.

MED. No, sister; nor AlcA|us, EubA|us, nor Apuleius; but some cold cucumber-spirit--Xenocrates, who never actually knew how to hug his mistress.

TIN. This is the hour and place.

FRI. It is so; and no doubt but our feathered favourites have overflown us.