n your
Bride-maids ask, why should not you be merry?

But alas you harmless Dove, that think you are going into Paradice;
pray tell me, when you were going to sign the Contract of marriage,
what was the reason that you alter'd so mightily, & that your hand
shook so? Verily, though I am no Astronomer, or caster of Figures; yet
nevertheless me-thought it was none of the best signs; and that one
might already begin to make a strange Prognostication from it; the
events whereof would be more certain then any thing that _Lilly_ or
any other Almanack maker ever writ. But we'l let that alone, for in a
short time it will discover it self.

Therefore, Mistress Bride, make you merry, and since you have gotten
your desire to be the Bride before any of your Bridemaids; it would be
unreasonable that you should be troubled now with any other business.
And indeed here's work enough for the ordering of things that you must
trouble your head with; for the Brides Apparel must be made, and the
Stufs, laces, lining, cuffs, and many other things are yet to be
bought. Well, who can see an end of all your business! There's one
piece of stuf is too light, and another too dark; the third looks dull
and hath no gloss. And see here's three or four daies gon, and little
or nothing bought yet.

And the worst of all is, that whil'st you are thus busie in
contriving, ordering and looking upon things, you are every moment
hindered, & taken off from it, with a continual knocking at the dore
to sollicite one to deliver all sorts of Comfits, another to deliver
the ornaments for the Brides Garland, Flowers, &c, a third to be Cook,
& Pastryman, & so many more, which come one after another thundering
so at the door, that it is one bodies work to let them in, and carry
their message to the Bride.

Oh, call the Bride, time will deceive us! The Semstress, Gorget-maker,
and Starcher, must be sent for, and the linnen must be bought &
ordered for the Bridegrooms shirts, the Brides smocks, Cuffs, Bands;
and handkerchifs; & do but see, the day is at an end again: my brains
are almost addle, and nothing goes forward: For M^{rs}. Smug said she
would bring linnen, and M^{rs}. Smooth laces, but neither of them both
are yet come. Run now men and maids as if the Devil were in you; and
comfort your selves, that the Bride will reward you liberally for your
pains.

Well, M^{rs}. Bride, how's your head so out of order! might not you
now do (as once a Schoolmaster did)