Antonio looking at him.
MARCELLUS.
Have you done? Is that all?
ANTONIO.
Yes.
MARCELLUS.
Pr'ythee give me some more.
ANTONIO.
No; it makes you melancholy.
MARCELLUS.
Death! I tell you I like it for that; come, t'other
Stanzo, Stanza, what d'ye call them?
ANTONIO.
Just what you please.
MARCELLUS.
Nay, I care not for their Name, they owe me nothing;
but come, if you will sing, sing; if not, leave me, that I
may find some other Employment.
HILLARIO.
That's a little unpolite, methinks.
FLORINDA.
A little upon the free, or so.
ANTONIO.
Well, hearken then.
Antonio. sings.
What's Ambition? 'tis a Toy.
What are Riches? Pain and Trouble.
What is Fame? a short-liv'd Joy.
What is Honour? but a Bubble.
-- 44 --
Who's so happy then as we, who beneath the Greenwood-tree,
Where no Fear or Envy reigns,
While Time shakes his hasty Glass, our Hours in endless Transports pass,
And taste Life's Joys without its Pains?
There Sir.
MARCELLUS.
More, more, I pr'ythee more.
ANTONIO.
I can sing no more.
MARCELLUS.
Then leave me, I am busy, and wou'd be alone.
HILLARIO.
Ah Pox! there's some more of his Freedom.
ANTONIO.
With all my Heart; 'tis near the Duke's Dining-Time,
and I must attend him; you'll not go with me?
MARCELLUS.
No, I'll try to sleep; if I can't, I'll go rail at all Mankind,
and wish my Friends at the Devil.
HILLARIO.
By my Troth, a very pious Resolution.
ANTONIO.
Why, what a Brute art thou: Well, fare you well.
-- 45 --
John Carrington [1739], The modern receipt: or, A Cure for Love. A comedy. Altered from Shakespeare. With Original Poems, Letters &c. (Printed for the Author, London) [word count] [S35300].
