25
Why fool, perhaps to-nightbut I'll be mum!
I fear the Devil for a jesting bond?
Nay, I would bid him as I bid you, pack.
Madam Pomeroy:
Well, once I go, I go not to return.
Next time you need me you may whistle in vain,
Wise Master! you have wanted me before,
Avis is feather pated, over young,
And you grown old and failing need a crutch
To prop you in your dire infirmity.
Sylvester:
If in the street leaning upon my cane
It serve my purpose, I am not nice to mark
In what of dust and mud the ferrule dips,
But you are a broken reed, too near the mire.
Madam Pomeroy:
Ah! cruel man, 'twas different years ago,
