I, escaping the confusion
Of the streets and squares, have flitted
Hitherward, to spend in study
What of daylight yet may glimmer.
Go, enjoy the festival,
Go to Antioch and mingle
In its various sports, returning
When the sun descending sinketh
To be buried in the waves,
Which, beneath the dark clouds' fringes,
Round the royal corse of gold,
Shine like sepulchres of silver.
Here you'll find me.

MOSCON. Sir, although
Most decidedly my wish is
To behold the sports, yet I
Cannot go without a whisper
Of some few five thousand words,
Which I'll give you in a jiffy.
Can it be that on a day
Of such free, such unrestricted
Revelry, and mirth, and fun,
You with your old books come hither
To this country place, rejecting
All the frolic of the city?

CLARIN. Well, I think my master's right;
For there's nothing more insipid
Than a grand procession day,