so fast.
My joys are turbulent, my hopes show like fruition.
These high and gusty relishes of life, sure,
Have no allayings of mortality in them.
I am too hot now, and o'ercapable,
For the tedious processes, and creeping wisdom,
Of human acts, and enterprises of a man.
I want some seasonings of adversity,
Some strokes of the old mortifier Calamity,
To take these swellings down, divines call vanity.

1_st Gent_. Mr. Woodvil, Mr. Woodvil.

2_nd Gent_. Where is Woodvil?

_Gray_. Let him alone. I have seen him in these lunes before. His
abstractions must not taint the good mirth.

_John_ (_continuing to soliloquize_). O for some friend, now,
To conceal nothing from, to have no secrets.
How fine and noble a thing is confidence,
How reasonable, too, and almost godlike!
Fast cement of fast friends, band of society,
Old natural go-between in the world's business,
Where civil life and order, wanting this cement,
Would presently rush back
Into the pristine state of singularity,
And each man stand alone.

(_A servant enters_.)

_Servant_. Gentlemen, the fireworks are ready.

1_st Gent_. What be they?

_Lovel_. The work of London artists, which our host has provided in
honor of this day.

2_nd Gent_. 'Sdeath, who would part with his wine for a rocket?

_Lovel_. Why truly, gentlemen, as our kind host has been at the pains
to provide this spectacle, we can do no less than be present at it.
It will not take up much time. Every man may return fresh and
thirsting to his liquor.

_3rd Gent_. There's reason in what he says.

_2d Gent_. Charge on then, bottle in hand. There's husbandry in that.

[_They go out, singing. Only_ LOVEL _remains, who observes_ WOODVIL.

_John_ (_still talking to himself_).
This Lovel here's of a tough honesty,
Would put the rack to the proof. He is not of that sort
Which haunt my house, snorting the liquors,
And when their wisdoms are afloat with wine,
Spend vows as fast as vapors, which go off
Even with the fumes, their fathers. He is one,
Whose sober morning actions
Shame not his o'ernight's promises;
Talks little, flatters less, and makes no promises;
Why this is he, whom the dark-wisdom'd fate
Might trust her counsels of predestination with,
And the world be no loser.
Why should I fear this man? [_Seeing_ LOVEL.
Where is the company gone?

_Lovel_. To see the fireworks, where you will be expected to follow.
But I perceive you are better engag