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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


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!


Silvia, Morosa, and ROMANELLO, disguised, as
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

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

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


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You would be fair, forsooth! you would be mon

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

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

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

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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