
    Play'd at hot-cockles[76] all the while upon
    My buttocks. Well, I hope I shall ne'er be
    Buried again whilst I live, and so with
    That prayer I'll go to bed.

                           _Enter +Mirida+._

    +Mir.+ My dear fat love, little dost thou think how many
    Tears I have shed for all thy sufferings; that rogue
    Philidor put a trick upon us all.

    +Ping.+ Well, and has physic, heats, burial,
    Nor resurrection, made me yet lean
    Enough to be thy husband? why, I have
    Lost as much grease as would furnish
    A whole city with candles for a twelvemonth
    And all for the love of thee, sweet Mirida.       [_Cries and sobs._

    +Mir.+ Dear love, come sit thee in my lap,
    And let me try if I can enclose thy world
    Of fat and love within these arms:
    See, I cannot nigh encompass my
    Desires by a mile.

    +Ping.+ How is my fat a rival to my joys!                  [_Cries._
    Sure, I shall weep it all away.

    +Mir.+ Lie still, my babe, lie still and sleep,
    It grieves me sore to see thee weep:
    Wer't thou but leaner, I were glad;
    Thy fatness makes thy dear love sad.
    What a lump of love have I in my arms!

    +Ping.+ Nay, if I had not taken all these courses
    To dissolve myself into thy embraces,
    One would think my looking on thee
    Were enough; for I never see thee but
    I am like a fat piece of beef roasting
    At the fire, continually drop, drop, drop.
    There's ne'er a feature in thy face, or
    Part about thee, but has cost me many
    A pint of fat, with thinking on thee;
    And yet not to be lean enough for
    Thy husband--O fate! O fate!
    O fat!                                         [_She lets him fall._

    +Mir.+ O Lord, sir, I have let you fall,
    How shall I do to get you up again!

    +Ping.+ Nay, that is more than all the world can tell.

    +Mir.+ I'll e'en lie down by thee then.

    +Ping.+ Nay,
    But prythee lie near me; thou hadst
    As good lie a league off, as that distance.

    +Mir.+     Were I