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Mil. Well, sister, those that scorn their nest oft fly with a sick wing.

Ger. Bow-bell! Alas! poor Mill, when I am a lady, I’ll pray for thee yet i’faith; nay, and I’ll vouchsafe to call thee sister Mill still; for thou art not like to be a lady as I am, yet surely thou art a creature of God’s making, and may’st peradventure be saved as soon as I (does he come?). And ever and anon she doubled in her song.

Mil. Now (lady’s my comfort), what a profane ape’s here!

Enter SIR PETRONEL FLASH, MR. TOUCHSTONE, and MRS. TOUCHSTONE.

Ger. Is my knight come? 0 the lord, my band! Sister, do my cheeks look well? Give me a little box o’ the ear, that I may seem to blush. Now, now! so, there, there! here he is! 0 my dearest delight! Lord, lord! and how does my knight?

Touchstone. Fie, with more modesty.

Ger. Modesty! why, I am no citizen now. Modesty! am I not to be married? You’re best to keep me modest, now I am to be a lady.

Sir Petronel. Boldness is a good fashion and court-like.

Ger. Aye, in, a country lady I hope it is, as I shall be. And how chance ye came no sooner, knight?

Sir Pet. Faith, I was so entertained in the progress with one Count Epernoun, a Welch knight: we had a match at baloon too with my Lord Whackum for four crowns.

Ger. And when shall’s be married, my knight?

Sir Pet. I am come now to consummate: and your father may call a poor knight son-in-law.

Mrs. Touchstone. Yes, that he is a knight: I know where he had money to pay the gentlemen ushers and heralds their fees. Aye, that he is a knight: and so might you have been too, if you had been aught else but an ass, as well as some of your neighbours. An I thought you would not ha’ been knighted, as I am an honest woman, I would ha’ dubbed you myself. I praise God, I have wherewithal. But as for you, daughter–

Ger. Aye, mother, I must be a lady to-morrow; and by your leave, mother (I speak it not without my duty, but only in the right of my husband), I must take place of you, mother.

Mrs. Touch. That you shall, lady-daughter; and have a coach as well as I.

Ger. Yes, mother; but my coach-horses must take the wall of your coach-horses.

Touch. Come, come, the day grows low; ’tis supper time: and, sir, respect my daughter; she has refused for you wealthy and honest matches, known good men.

Ger. Body o’ truth, citizen, citizens! Sweet knight, as soon as ever we are married, take me to thy mercy, out of this miserable city. Presently: carry me out of the scent of Newcastle coal and the hearing of Bow-bell, I beseech thee; down with me, for God’s sake.’-Act I. Scene i.

This dotage on sound and show seemed characteristic of that age (see New Way to Pay Old Debts, etc.)–as if in the grossness of sense, and the absence of all intellectual and abstract topics of thought and discourse (the thin, circulating medium of the present day) the mind was attracted without the power of resistance to the tinkling sound of its own name with a title added to it, and the image of its own person tricked out in old-fashioned finery. The effect, no doubt, was also more marked and striking from the contrast between the ordinary penury and poverty of the age and the first and more extravagant demonstrations of luxury and artificial refinement.

[5] ‘Gertrude. Good lord, that there are no fairies nowadays, Syn.

Syndefy. Why, Madam?

Ger. To do miracles, and bring ladies money. Sure, if we lay in a cleanly house, they would haunt it, Synne? I’ll sweep the chamber soon at night, and set a dish of water o’ the hearth. A fairy may come and bring a pearl or a diamond. We do not know, Synne: or there may be a pot of gold hid in the yard, if we had tools to dig for’t. Why may not we two rise early i’ the morning, Synne, afore anybody is up, and find a jewel i’ the streets worth a hundred pounds? May not some great court-lady, as she comes from revels at midnight, look out of her coach, as ’tis running, and lose such a jewel, and we find it? ha!

Syn. They are pretty waking dreams, these.

Ger. Or may not some old usurer be drunk overnight with a bag of money, and leave it behind him on a stall? For God’s sake, Syn, let’s rise to-morrow by break of day, and see. I protest, la, if I had as much money as an alderman, I would scatter some on’t i’ the streets for poor ladies to find when their knights were laid up. And now I remember my song of the Golden Shower, why may not I have such a fortune? I’ll sing it, and try what luck I shall have after it.’–Act V. Scene i.’