Welcome to Paris, once more, gentlemen!
We have had a merry and a lusty ordinary,
And wine, and good meat, and a bouncing reckoning!
And let it go for once; 'tis a good physic:
Only the wenches are not for my diet;
They are too lean and thin, their embraces brawn-fallen.
Give me the plump Venetian, fat, and lusty,
That meets me soft and supple; smiles upon me,
As if a cup of full wine leap'd to kiss me;
These slight things I affect not.
There's nothing good or handsome bred amongst us:
Till we are travell'd, and live abroad, we are coxcombs.
You talk of France; a slight unseason'd country,
Abundance of gross food, which makes us blockheads!
We are fair set out indeed, and so are fore-horses:
Men say, we are great courtiers; men abuse us!
We are wise, and valiant too; non credo, signor! Our women the best linguists; they are parrots;
O' this side the Alps they're nothing but mere drolleries.
Ha! Roma la Santa, Italy for my money!
Their policies, their customs, their frugalities,
Their courtesies so open, yet so reserved too,
As, when you think you are known best, you're a stranger;
Their very pick-teeth speak more man than we do,
And season of more salt!
I like that freedom well, and like their women too,
And would fain do as others do; but I'm so bashful,
So naturally an assLook ye, I can look upon 'em,
And very willingly I go to see 'em,
(There's no man willinger) and I can kiss 'em,
And make a shift
Yes, certainly I dare fight,
And fight with any man at any weapon;
'Would the other were no more! but a pox on't!
When I am sometimes in my height of hope,
And reasonable valiant that way, my heart harden'd,
Some scornful jest or other chops between me
And my desire: What would you have me to do then, gentlemen?
I am sent for home now,
I know it is to marry; but my father shall pardon me:
Although it be a weighty ceremony,
And may concern me hereafter in my gravity,
I will not lose the freedom of a traveller;
A new strong lusty bark cannot ride at one anchor.
Shall I make divers suits to show to the same eyes?
'Tis dull and home-spun! study several pleasures,
And want employments for 'em? I'll be hang'd first!
Tie me to one smock? make my travels fruitless?
I'll none of that; for every fresh behaviour,
By your leave, father, I must have a fresh mistress,
And a fresh favour too.
There's no reason
A gentleman, and a traveller, should be clapt up,
(For 'tis a kind of bilboes to be married)
Before he manifest to the world his good parts:
Tug ever, like a rascal, at one oar?
Give me the Italian liberty!