Pet. Hold you there still!
Jun. It takes away my sleep—
Pet. Alas, poor chicken!
Jun. My company, content, almost my fashion—
Pet. Yes, and your weight too, if you follow it.
Jun. ’Tis sure the plague, for no man dare come near me
Without an antidote; ’tis far worse, hell.
Pet. Thou art damn’d without redemption then.
Jun. The way to’t
Strew’d with fair western smiles, and April blushes,
Led by the brightest constellations; eyes,
And
sweet proportions, envying Heaven; but from thence
No way to guide, no path, no wisdom brings us.
Pet. Yes, a smart water, Junius.
Jun. Do I fool?
Know all this, and fool still? Do I know further,
That when we have enjoy’d our ends we
lose ’em,
And all our appetites are but as dreams
We laugh at in our ages?—
Pet. Sweet philosopher!
Jun. Do I know on still, and yet know nothing? Mercy, gods!
Why am I thus ridiculous?
Pet. Motley on thee,
Thou art an arrant ass.
Jun. Can red and white,
An eye, a nose, a cheek—
Pet. But one cheek, Junius?
An half-faced mistress?
Jun. With a little trim,
That wanton fools call fashion, thus abuse me?
Take me beyond my reason? Why
should not I
Dote on my horse well trapt, my sword well hatch’d?
They are as handsome things, to me
more useful,
And possible to rule too. Did I but love,
Yet ’twere excusable, my youth would bear it:
But to
love there, and that no time can give me,
Mine honour dare not ask (she has been ravish’d),
My nature
must not know (she hates our nation),
Thus to dispose my spirit!
Pet. Stay a little; he will declaim again.
Jun. I will not love! I am a man, have reason,
And I will use it; I’ll no more tormenting,
Nor whining for a
wench; there are a thousand—
Pet. Hold thee there, boy!
Jun. A thousand will entreat me.
Pet. Ten thousand, Junius.
Jun. I am young and lusty,
And to my fashion valiant; can please nightly.
Pet. I’ll swear thy back’s probatum, for I have known thee
Leap at sixteen like a strong stallion.
Jun. I will be man again.
Pet. Now mark the working!
The devil and the spirit tug for’t: Twenty pound
Upon the devil’s head!