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Spa. Who brought him in ? that would be known.

Sec. That did Signor Troylo; I saw the page part at the door. Some trick still; go to, wife, I must and I will have an eye to this gear.

Spa. A plain case; roguery, brokage and roguery, or call me bulchin. Fancies, quoth a'? rather Frenzies. We shall all roar shortly, turn madcaps, lie open to what comes first: I may stand to't—that boy page is a naughty boy page;let me feel your forehead : ha! oh, hum,-yes,there,—there again! I'm sorry

for

ye, a hand-saw cannot cure ye: monstrous and apparent ! [Feeling his forehead.

Sec. What, what, what, what, what, Spadone?

Spa. What, what, what, what! nothing but velvet tips ;4 you are of the first head yet.

Have a good heart, man; a cuckold, though he be a beast, wears invisible horns, else we might know a citybull from a country-calf;-villainous boy, still!

Sec. My razor shall be my weapon, my razor.

Spa. Why, he's not come to the honour of a beard yet; he needs no shaving.

Sec. I will trim him and tram him.
Spa. Nay, she may do well enough for one.

Sec. One ? ten, a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand; do beyond arithmetic! Spadone, I speak it with some passion, I am a notorious cuckold.

* Nothing but velvet tips.] Spadone alludes to “ the down or velvet upon the first sprouting horns of a young deer.”

Spa. Gross and ridiculous!-look ye-point blank, I dare not swear that this same mountebanking new-come foist is at least a procurer in the business, if not a pretender himself;—but I think what I think.

Sec. He, Troylo, Livio, the page, that holecreeping page, all horn me, sirrah. I'll forgive thee from my heart; dost not thou drive a trade too in my bottom?

Spa. A likely matter! 'las, I am metamorphosed, I; be patient, you'll mar all else.

Laughing within. Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Sec. Now, now, now, now the game's rampant, rampant!

Spa. Leave your wild figaries, and learn to be a tame antick, or I'll observe no longer.

Within. Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Enter TroyLO, CASTAMELA, FLORIA, CLARELLA,

Silvia, Morosa, and ROMANELLO, disguised, as
PRAGNIOLI.
Sil. You are extremely busy, signor.

Flo. Courtly,
Without a fellow.

Clar. Have a stabbing wit.
Cast. But are you always, when you press on

ladies
Of mild and easy nature, so much satire,
So tart and keen as we do taste you now?
It

argues a lean brain.
Rom. Gip to your beauties!

VOL. II.

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You would be fair, forsooth! you would be mon

sters;
Fair women are such;-monsters to be seen
Are rare, and so are they.

Troy. Bear with him, ladies.
Mor. He is a foul-mouth'd man.
Sec. Whore, bitch-fox, treddle!--[Aside to Mor.]

--fa la la la!
Mor. How's that, my cat-a-mountain?
Spa. Hold her there, boy.
Clar. Were you e'er in love, fine signor?

Rom. Yes, for sport's sake,
But soon forgot it; he that rides a gallop
Is quickly weary. I esteem of love
As of a man in some huge place; it puzzles
Reason, distracts the freedom of the soul,
Renders a wise man fool, and a fool wise-
In's own conceit, not else; it yields effects
Of pleasure, travail; bitter, sweet; war, peace;
Thorns, roses; prayers, curses; longings, surfeits,
Despair, and then a rope. Oh, my trim lover!-
Yes, I have loved a score at once.

Spa. Out, stallion! as I am a man and no man, the baboon lies, I dare swear, abominably. Sec. Inhumanly ;-keep your bow close, vixen.

[Pinches Mor.

s Treddle !] That part of the loom on which the foot presses : vulgarly, a common creature, a street-walker.

Keep your bow close, vixen.] This is taken from ancient Pistol's injunction to his disconsolate spouse at parting ; and with her it might have been safely left.

Mor. Beshrew your fingers, if you be in earnest! You pinch too hard; go to, I'll pare your nails

for't. Spa. She means your horns; there's a bob for

you! Clar. Spruce signor, if a man may love so many, Why may not a fair lady have like privilege Of several servants?

Troy. Answer that; the reason Holds the same weight.

Mor. Marry, and so it does,
Though he would spit his gall out.

Spa. Mark that, Secco.
Sil. D’ye pump for a reply?

Rom. The learned differ
In that point; grand and famous scholars often
Have argued pro and con, and left it doubtful;
Volumes have been writ on't. If then great clerks
Suspend their resolutions, 'tis a modesty
For me to silence mine.

Flo. Dull and phlegmatic!

Clar. Yet women sure, in such a case, are ever More secret than men are.

Sil. Yea, and talk less.

Rom. That is a truth much fabled, never found. You secret! when your dresses blab your vanities? Carnation for your points? there's a gross babbler; Tawney? hey ho! the pretty heart is wounded: A knot of willow ribbons? she's forsaken. Another rides the cock-horse, green and azure,

Wince and cry wee-hee ! like a colt unbroken: But desperate black put them in mind of fish-days; When Lent spurs on devotion, there's a famine : Yet love and judgment may help all this pudder; Where are they ? not in females.

Flo. In all sorts
Of men, no doubt!

Sil. Else they were sots to choose.
Clar. To swear and flatter, sometimes lie, for

profit.
Rom. Not so, forsooth: should love and judg-

ment meet,
The old, the fool, the ugly, and deform’d,
Could never be beloved; for example,
Behold these two, this madam and this shaver.

Mor. I do defy thee; am I old or ugly?
Sec. Tricks, knacks, devices! now it trouls

about.
Rom. Troul let it, stripling; thou hast yet firm

footing, And need'st not fear the cuckold's livery, There's good philosophy for't: take this for com

fort; No horned beasts have teeth in either gums; But thou art tooth'd on both sides, though she fail

in't.
Mor. He is not jealous, sirrah.

Rom. That's his fortune;
Women indeed more jealous are than men,
But men have more cause..

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