SCENE II.

_A Gallery._

_Enter_ SIR BOUNTEOUS, _with_ FOLLYWIT, MAWWORM, HOBOY, _and others_.[770]

SIR B. You must pardon us, my lord, hasty cates; your honour has had even a hunting-meal on’t; and now I am like to bring your lordship to as mean a lodging; a hard down bed, i’faith, my lord, poor cambric sheets, and a cloth a’ tissue canopy; the curtains, indeed, were wrought in Venice, with the story of the Prodigal Child in silk and gold; only the swine are left out, my lord, for[771] spoiling the curtains. FOL. ’Twas well prevented, sir. SIR B. Silken rest, harmonious slumbers, and venereal dreams to your lordship! FOL. The like to kind sir Bounteous! SIR B. Fie, not to me, my lord; I’m old, past dreaming of such vanities. FOL. Old men should dream best. SIR B. They’re dreame[r]s indeed, my lord; you’ve gi’nt us. To-morrow your lordship shall see my cocks, my fish-ponds, my park, my champion[772] grounds; I keep champers[773] in my house can shew your lordship some pleasure. FOL. Sir Bounteous, you even whelm me with delights. SIR B. Once again, a musical night to your honour! I’ll trouble your lordship no more. FOL. Good rest, sir Bounteous. [_Exit_ SIR BOUNTEOUS.]— So, come, the vizards! where be the masking-suits? MAW. In your lordship’s portmantua. FOL. Peace, lieutenant. MAW. I had rather have war, captain. FOL. Pooh, the plot’s ripe! come, to our business, lad; Though guilt condemns, ’tis gilt[774] must make us glad. MAW. Nay, and[775] you be at your distinctions, captain, I’ll follow behind no longer. FOL. Get you before, then, and whelm your nose with your vizard; go. [_Exit_ MAWWORM. Now, grandsire, you that hold me at hard meat, And keep me out at the dag’s end,[776] I’ll fit you: Under his lordship’s leave, all must be mine He and his will confesses; what I take, then, Is but a borrowing of so much beforehand; I’ll pay him again when he dies in so many blacks;[777]

I’ll have the church hung round with a noble[778] a yard, or requite him in scutcheons: let him trap me in gold, and I’ll lap him in lead; _quid pro quo_. I must look none of his angels[779] in the face, forsooth, until his face be not worth looking on: tut, lads,

Let sires and grandsires keep us low, we must Live when they’re flesh, as well as when they’re dust. [_Exeunt._