Chapter 71

[_To them_] SIR SAMPSON, ANGELICA, BUCKRAM.

SIR SAMP. Where is this old soothsayer, this uncle of mine elect? Aha, old Foresight, Uncle Foresight, wish me joy, Uncle Foresight, double joy, both as uncle and astrologer; here’s a conjunction that was not foretold in all your Ephemeris. The brightest star in the blue firmament—_is shot from above_, _in a jelly of love_, and so forth; and I’m lord of the ascendant. Odd, you’re an old fellow, Foresight; uncle, I mean, a very old fellow, Uncle Foresight: and yet you shall live to dance at my wedding; faith and troth, you shall. Odd, we’ll have the music of the sphere’s for thee, old Lilly, that we will, and thou shalt lead up a dance in Via Lactea.

FORE. I’m thunderstruck! You are not married to my niece?

SIR SAMP. Not absolutely married, uncle; but very near it, within a kiss of the matter, as you see. [_Kisses_ ANGELICA.]

ANG. ’Tis very true, indeed, uncle. I hope you’ll be my father, and give me.

SIR SAMP. That he shall, or I’ll burn his globes. Body o’ me, he shall be thy father, I’ll make him thy father, and thou shalt make me a father, and I’ll make thee a mother, and we’ll beget sons and daughters enough to put the weekly bills out of countenance.

SCAN. Death and hell! Where’s Valentine?