PHILAUTIA

Faith, how liked you my quip to HEDON, about the garter? was't not witty? And did I not dance movingly the last night? Nay, that's mine own from any Nymph in the court (I am sure on't) therefore you mistake me in that, Guardian: both the swim and the trip , are properly mine, every body will affirm it, that has any judge meant in dancing: I assure you. I, good PHANTASTE: What! have you changed your head-tire? I'll be sworn, this is most excellent for the device, and rare. It's after the Italian print, we looked on tother night. And yet we cannot have a new peculiar court-tire, but these re tainers will have it; these Suburbe-sunday-waiters ; these courtiers for high days ; I know not what I should call them— 'Tis very clear, and well, believe me. But if you had seen mine yesterday, when was young, you would have— who's your Doctor, PHANTASTE? For heavens sake, his name; good, deer PHANTASTE — Nor I, I'll be sworn: The very mention of it sets my lips in a worse heat, then if he had sprinkled them with MERCURY. Reach me the glass, sirrah. Yes, a little, Guardian. Is't not quaint? Tut, let him be what he will, it's and animal I dream not of. This tire (me thinks) makes me look very ingeniously, quick, and spiri ted, I should be some LAURA, or some DELIA, me thinks. For CUPIDS sake, speak no more of him; would I might ne ver dare to look in a mirror again, if I respect ere a marmaset of them all, otherwise, then I would a feather, or my shittle-cock, to make sport with, now and then. Oh, fie on him, he looks Like a venetian trumpeter, in the bat tail of Lepanto , in the gallery yonder; and speaks to the tune of a con trey lady, that comes ever in the rearward, or train of a fashion. I, and he has a very imperfect face. His hand's too great too, by at least a straws breadth A long heel? Out upon him: turn to another of the pictures, for loves sake. What says ARGVRION? whom does she commend, afore the rest? How now, ARGVRION? And then his several colours he wears; wherein he flourish eth changeably, every day. Why, she dotes more palpably upon him, then ere his father did upon her. Say you so? me thinks, he looks Like a tailor already. The very marchpane of the court, I warrant you? Troth, the very same I am. Only I would wish my self a lit tle more command, and sovereignty; that all the court were subject to my absolute beck, and all things in it depending on my look; as if there were no other heaven, but in my smile, nor other hell, but in my frown; that I might send for any man I list, and have his head cut off, when I have done with him; or made and eunuch , if he denied me: and if I saw a bet ter face then mine own, I might have my doctor to poison it. What would you wish, PHANTASTE? You needs not fear, sir, I did of purpose humble my self a gainst your coming, to decline the pride of my ambition. That were the next way to distitle my self of honour. Oh, no, rather be still ambitious , I pray you. Gods my life, how he doe's all to be qualify her! ingenious, acute, and polite? as if there were not others in place as ingenious, acute, and polite, as she. For sports sake, let's have some riddles , or purposes ; hough. Prophecies? we cannot all fit in at them; we shall make a con fusion. No; what called you that we had in the forenoon? I, that, who begins? But do not you change, then? Popular. Popular. Marry, that is, when they are not content to be generally noted in court, but will press forth on common stages, and brokers stalls, to the public view of the world. Nay, do not rack us thus? I, good PHANTASTE, let's have that: Distribute the places. A few heat drops, and a months mirth. A few heat drops, and a months mirth followed. In good faith, these unhappy pages would be whipped, for stay king thus. PHANTASTE! ARGVRION! what? you are suddenly struck, me thinks! for loves sake let's have some music, till they come. Ambition , reach the lyram , I pray you. Come, AMORPHUS, cheer up PHANTASTE. I, good Ambition. Oh , That joy so soon should waste! or so sweet a bliss as a kiss, Might not for ever last! So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious, The Due that lies on roses, When the morn her self descloses, is not so precious. Oh, rather then I would it smother, Were I to taste such another; It should be my wishing That I might die kissing. But, how does this draw on the ditty, sir? Good AMORPHUS, let's hear it sing. And me too, in troth, I Like it exceedingly. No, in faith, but there's my glove for a favour. Oh, that we had five, or six bottles more of this liquour. Let her go, I pray you, good lady Sobriety, I am glad we are rid of her. Oh, she is the extraction of a dozen of Puritans, for a look. I wonder, how CYNTHIA can affect her so above the rest! Here be they are every way as fair as she, and a thought fairer, I trow. Would I were dead, if I would change to be CYNTHIA. What's the ceremony? Troth, and so we may, if we handle them well. Peace. Oh, he is a well-spoken gentleman. Very good. Believe it, he is a man of excellent silence. Peace; Let's see the Monsieur's Accost: Rare! And excellent offer! See, the French prepares it richly. What says my good Ambition? Why, I take the french -behaved gentleman. Why, the Monsieur but dallies with him. Oh brave, and spirited! He's a right Jovialist. No, no: AMORPHUS gravity outways it. With all my heart, come, Guardian Resign your place. Better be alone, sir; then ill-accompanied. You play too rough, gentlemen. Two lips wagging.