The Mad Lover
Chi. Very fine Fool, and fine Boy, Peace playes with you, As the wind playes with Feathers, dances ye, You grind with all gusts, gallants.
Page. We can bounce Sir, When you Soldados bend i'th' hams, and frisk too.
Fool. When twenty of your trip-coats turn their tippets, And your cold sallets without salt or vineger Be wambling in your stomachs; hemp and hobnails Will bear no price now, hangings and old harness Are like to over-run us.
Pa. Whores and hot houses.
Fool. Surgeons and Syringes ring out your sance-bells.
Page. Your Jubile, your Jubile.
Fool. Prob Deum. How our St. Georges will bestride the Dragons, The red and ramping Dragons.
Page. Advanc't fool--
Fool. But then the sting i'th' t