men,
Your fathers, mean to lanch their busy bags;
But in mean time to thrust Mountchensey off,
For colour of this new intended match,
Fair Millescent to Cheston must be sent,
To take the approbation for a Nun.
Ne'er look upon me, lad, the match is done.

JERNINGHAM.
Raymond Mountchensey, now I touch thy grief
With the true feeling of a zealous friend.
And as for fair and beauteous Millescent,
With my vain breath I will not seek to slubber
Her angel like perfections; but thou know'st
That Essex hath the Saint that I adore.
Where ere did we meet thee and wanton springs,
That like a wag thou hast not laught at me,
And with regardless jesting mockt my love?
How many a sad and weary summer night
My sighs have drunk the dew from off the earth,
And I have taught the Niting-gale to wake,
And from the meadows spring the early Lark
An hour before she should have list to sing:
I have loaded the poor minutes with my moans,
That I have made the heavy slow passed hours
To hang like heavy clogs upon the day.
But, dear Mountchensey, had not my affection
Seased on the beauty of another dame,
Before I would wrong the chase, and overgive love
Of one so worthy and so true a friend,
I will abjure both beauty and her sight,
And will in love become a counterfeit.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Dear Jerningham, thou hast begot my life,
And from the mouth of hell, where now I sate,
I feel my spirit rebound against the stars:
Thou hast conquerd me, dear friend, in my free soul;
Their time nor death can by their power controul.

FABELL.
Franke Jerningham, thou art a gallant boy;
And were he not my pupil, I would say
He were as fine a mettled gentleman,
Of as free spirit, and of as fine a temper
As is in England; and he is a man
That very richly may deserve thy love.
But, noble Clare, this while of our discourse,
What may Mounchensey's honour to thy self
Exact upon the measure of thy grace?

CLARE.
Raymond Mounchensey, I would have thee know,
He does not breath this air,
Whose love I cherish, and whose soul I love
More than Mounchensey's:
Nor ever in my life did see the man
Whom, for his wit and many vertuous parts,
I think more worthy of my sister's love.
But since the matter grows unto this pass,
I must not seem to cross my Father's will;
But when thou list to visit her by night,
My horses sadled, and the stable door
Stands ready for thee; use them at thy pleasure.
In honest marriage wed her frankly, boy,
And if thou getst her, lad, God give thee joy!

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Then, care, away! let fates my fall pretend,
Backt with the favours of so true a friend!

FABELL.
Let us alone, to bussell for the set;
For age and craft with wit and Art have met.
I'll make my spirits to dance such nightly jigs
Along the way twixt this and Totnam cross,
The Carriers jades shall cast their heavy packs,
And the strong hedges scarse shall keep them in:
The Milk-maids Cuts shall turn the wenches off,
And lay the Dossers tumbling in the dust:
The frank and merry London prentises,
That come for cream and lusty country cheer,
Shall lose their way; and, scrambling in the ditches,
All night shall whoop and hollow, cry and call,
Yet none to other find the way at all.

MOUNTCHENSEY.
Pursue the project, scholler: what we can do
To help indeavour, join our lives thereto!

[Exeunt.]

ACT II.

SCENE I. Waltham: The house of Banks.

[Enter Banks, Sir John and Smug.]

BANKS. Take me with you, good Sir John! A plague on thee, Smug, and thou touchest liquor, thou art founderd straight. What, are your brains always water-mills? must they ever run round?

SMUG. Banks, your ale is a Philistine fox; z'hart, there's fire i'th tail on't; you are a rogue to charge us with Mugs i'th rereward. A plague of this wind; O, it tickles our catastrophe.

SIR JOHN. Neighbour Banks of Waltham, and Goodman Smug, the honest Smith of Edmonton, as I dwell betwixt you both at Enfield, I know the taste of both your ale houses, they are good both, smart both. Hem, Grass and hay! we are all mortal; let's live till we die, and be merry; and there's an end.

BANKS. Well said, Sir John, you are of the same humor still; and doth the water run the same way still, boy?

SMUG. Vulcan was a rogue to him; Sir John, lock, lock, lock fast, Sir John; so, sir John. I'll one of these years, when it shall please the Goddesses and the destinies, be drunk in your company; that's all now, and God send us health: shall I swear I love you?

SIR JOHN. No oaths, no oaths, good neighbour Smug! We'll wet our lips together and hug; Carrouse in private, and elevate the hart, and the liver and the lights,—and the lights, mark you me, within us; for hem, Grass and hay! we are all mortall, let's live till we die, and be Merry, and there's an end.

BANKS. But to our former motion about stealing some venison; whither go we?

SIR JOHN. Into the forest, neighbour Banks, into Brian's walk, the mad keeper.

SMUG.
Z'blood! I'll tickle your keeper.

BANKS.
Yfaith, thou art always drunk when we have need of thee.

SMUG. Need of me? z'hart, you shall have need of me always while there's iron in an Anvil.

BANKS. Master Parson, may the Smith go, think you, being in this taking?

SMUG.
Go? I'll go in spite of all the belles in Waltham.

SIR JOHN. The question is, good neighbour Banks—let me see: the Moon shines to night,—there's not a narrow bridge betwixt this and the forest,—his brain will be settled ere night; he may go, he may go, neighbour Banks. Now we want none but the company of mine host Blague at the George at Waltham; if he were here, our Consort were full. Look where comes my good host, the Duke of Norfolk's man! and how? and how? a hem, grass and hay! we are not yet mortall; let's live till we die, and be merry; and there's an end.

[Enter Host.]

HOST. Ha, my Castilian dialogues! and art thou in breath still, boy? Miller, doth the match hold? Smith, I see by thy eyes thou hast been reading little Geneva print: but wend we merrily to the forest, to steal some of the king's Deer. I'll meet you at the time appointed: away, I have Knights and Colonels at my house, and must tend the Hungarions. If we be scard in the forest, we'll meet in the Church-porch at Enfield; ist Correspondent?

BANKS.
Tis well; but how, if any of us should be taken?

SMITH.
He shall have ransom, by the Lord.

HOST. Tush, the knave keepers are my bosonians and my pensioners. Nine a clock! be valiant, my little Gogmagogs; I'll fence with all the Justices in Hartford shire. I'll have a Buck till I die; I'll slay a Doe while I live; hold your bow straight and steady. I serve the good duke of Norfolk.

SMUG.
O rare! who, ho, ho, boy!

SIR JOHN. Peace, neighbor Smug. You see this is a Boor, a Boor of the country, an illiterate Boor, and yet the Citizen of good fellows: come, let's provide; a hem, Grass and hay! we are not yet all mortall; we'll live till we die, and be merry, and there's an end. Come, Smug1

SMUG.
Good