While on thy faithful breast my head reclines,
The downy pillow's hard; while from thy lips
I drink delicious draughts of nectar down,
Falernian wines seem bitter to my taste."

_Mar. jun_. Here's meat, drink, singing, and lodging, egad.

_Luck_. He answers.

_Mar. jun_. But, sir----

_Luck_.

"Oh, let me pull thee, press thee to my heart,
Thou rising spring of everlasting sweets!
Take notice, Fortune, I forgive thee all!
Thou'st made Leandra mine. Thou flood of joy
Mix with my soul, and rush thro' ev'ry vein."


_Mar. sen_. Those two last lines again if you please.

_Luck_. "Thou'st made," &c.

_Mar. jun_.

"----Thou flood of joy,
Mix with my soul and rush thro' ev'ry vein."

Those are two excellent lines indeed: I never writ