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SONG.
COme follow me, my wagges, and say as I say. There's no riches but in ragges; hey day, hey day. You that professe this arte, come away, come away, And helpe to beare a part. Hey day; hey day, &c.
What! those that were our fellow pages but now, so soone preferr'd to be yeomen of the bottles? the mysterie, the mysterie, good wagges?
Some dyet-drinke, they haue the guard of.
No, sir, we are going in quest of a strange fountayne, lately found out.
By whom?
My master, or the great discouerer, AMORPHVS.
Thou hast well intitled him, COS, for hee will discouer all hee knowes.
I, and a little more too, when the spirit is vpon him.
O, the good trauailing gentleman yonder has caus'd such a drought i' the presence, with reporting the wonders of this new water▪ that all the ladies, and gallants, lie languishing vpon the rushes, like so many pounded cattle i' the midst of haruest, sighing one to another, and gasping, as if each of them expected a cocke from the fountayne, to bee brought into his mouth: and (without we returne quickly) they are all (as a youth would say) no better then a few trowts cast a-shore, or a dish of eeles in a sand-bagge.
Well then, you were best dispatch, and haue a care of them. Come, CVPID, thou and I'le goe peruse this drie wonder.