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Scen. 1.
Enter Madam Fricase, Madam Caveare, Madam Julippe, Madam Joculette, Madam Medler, Madam Tinder.Madam Fricase.
How tedious morns these be in our expectance
Of what we tender most?
Caveare.
Credit me Madam,
My Marriage day from th'rising Sun to Night
Seem'd not so long, though it was long enough,
As the slow-running course of this Morns visit.
Julippe.
Desires cannot endure protractive hours,
The Poet has confirm'd our thoughts in this,
Placing our Action far below our Wish:
“Sooner quenched is Loves fire
“With fruition then desire.
Joculette.
That Poet surely was neither Mantuan, Lucian,
nor Claudian.
Medler.
No Sister; nor Alcæus, Eubæus, nor Apuleius;
but some cold-Cucumber spirited Zonocrates, who
never knew actually how to hug his Mistress.
Tinder.
This is the hour and place.
Fricase.
It is so; and no doubt but our feather'd Favorites
have over flown us.
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