el._ And they tell, for news, such unlikely stories! A letter from
one of us is such a present to them, that the poor souls wait for the
carrier's-day with such devotion, that they cannot sleep the night
before.

_Arte._ No more than I can, the night before I am to go a journey.

_Dor._ Or I, before I am to try on a new gown.

_Mel._ A song, that's stale here, will be new there a twelvemonth
hence; and if a man of the town by chance come amongst them, he's
reverenced for teaching them the tune.

_Dor._ A friend of mine, who makes songs sometimes, came lately out of
the west, and vowed he was so put out of countenance with a song of
his; for, at the first country gentleman's he visited, he saw three
tailors cross legged upon the table in the hall, who were tearing out
as loud as ever they could sing,

--After the pangs of a desperate lover, &c.

And that all day he heard of nothing else, but the daughters of the
house, and the maids, humming it over in every corner, and the father
whistling it.

_Arte._ Indeed, I have observed of myself, that when I am out of town
but a fortnight, I am so humble, that I would receive a letter from my
tailor or mercer for a favour.

_Mel._ When I have been at grass in the summer, and am new come up
again, methinks I'm to be turned into ridicule by all that see me; but
when I have been once or twice at court, I begin to value myself
again, and to despise my country acquaintance.

_Arte._ There are places where all people may be adored, and we ought
to know ourselves so well as to choose them.

_Dor._ That's very true; your little courtier's wife, who speaks to
the king but once a month, need but go to a town lady, and there she
may vapour and cry,--"The king and I," at every word. Your town lady,
who is laughed at in the circle, takes her coach into the city, and
there she's called Your honour, and has a banquet from the merchant's
wife, whom she laughs at for her kindness. And, as for my finical cit,
she removes but to her country house, and there insults over the
country gentlewoman that never comes up, who treats her with furmity
and custard, and opens her dear bottle of _mirabilis_ beside, for a
gill-glass of it at parting.

_Arte._ At last, I see, we shall leave Melantha where we found her;
for, by your description of the town and country, they are become more
dreadful to her than the court, where she was affronted. But you
forget we are to wait on the princess Amalthe