feel, what neither cared to acknowledge,
that stories oft-repeated may, at last, come to lose some of their
grace by the repetition.

_Lovel_. Which both of you may yet live long enough to discover. For,
take my word for it, Margaret is a bird that will come back to you
without a lure.

_Wood_. Never, never, Lovel. Spite of my levity, with tears I confess
it, she was a lady of most confirmed honor, of an unmatchable spirit,
and determinate in all virtuous resolutions; not hasty to anticipate
an affront, nor slow to feel, where just provocation was given.

_Lovel_. What made you neglect her, then?

_Wood_. Mere levity and youthfulness of blood, a malady incident to
young men; physicians call it caprice. Nothing else. He that slighted
her knew her value: and 'tis odds, but, for thy sake, Margaret, John
will yet go to his grave a bachelor.

[_A noise heard, as of one drunk and singing._

_Lovel_. Here comes one, that will quickly dissipate these humors.

_Enter one drunk._

_Drunken Man_. Good-morrow to you, gentlemen. Mr. Lovel, I am your
humble servant. Honest Jack Woodvil, I will get drunk with you
to-morrow.

_Wood_. And why to-morrow, honest Mr. Freeman?

_Drunken Man_. I scent a traitor in that question. A beastly
question. Is it not his Majesty's birthday? the day of all days in
the year, on which King Charles the Second was graciously pleased to
be born. (_Sings._) "Great pity 'tis such days as those should come
but once a year."

_Lovel_. Drunk in a morning! foh! how he stinks!

_Drunken Man_. And why not drunk in a morning? canst tell, bully?

_Wood_. Because, being the sweet and tender infancy of the day,
methinks, it should ill endure such early blightings.

_Drunken Man_. I grant you, 'tis in some sort the youth and tender
nonage of the day. Youth is bashful, and I give it a cup to encourage
it. (_Sings._) "Ale that will make Grimalkin prate."--At noon I drink
for thirst, at night for fellowship, but, above all, I love to usher
in the bashful morning under the auspices of a freshening stoop of
liquor. (_Sings._) "Ale in a Saxon rumkin then, makes valor burgeon
in tall men."--But, I crave pardon. I fear I keep that gentleman from
serious thoughts. There be those that wait for me in the cellar.

_Wood_. Who are they?

_Drunken Man_. Gentlemen, my good friends, Cleveland, Delaval, and
Truby. I know by this time they are all clamorous for me.