Farewell, Mute.

 

Exit

 

MOR. Come, ha' me to my chamber: but first shut the door. The horn again. Oh, shut the door, shut the door. Is he come again?

 

Enter Cutbeard

 

CUT. 'Tis I, sir, your barber.

MOR. Oh, Cutbeard, Cutbeard, Cutbeard! Here has been a cut-throat with me: help me in to my bed, and give me physic with thy counsel.

 

Exeunt

 

 

Scene 3

Sir John Daw's house

 

Enter Daw, Clerimont, Dauphine, Epicoene

 

DAW. Nay, and she will, let her refuse, at her own charges: 'tis nothing to me, gentlemen. But she will not be invited to the like feasts or guests every day.

CLE. Oh, by no means, she may not refuse They dissuade her, privately – to stay at home, if you love your reputation: 'slight, you are invited thither o' purpose to be seen, and laughed at by the lady of the college and her shadows. This trumpeter hath proclaimed you.

DAU. You shall not go; let him be laughed at in your stead, for not bringing you: and put him to his extemporal faculty of fooling, and talking loud to satisfy the company.

CLE. He will suspect us, talk aloud. 'Pray, Mistress Epicoene, let's see your verses; we have Sir John Daw's leave: do not conceal your servant's merit, and your own glories.

EPI. They'll prove my servant's glories, if you have his leave so soon.

DAU. His vainglories, lady!

DAW. Show 'em, show 'em, mistress, I dare own 'em.

EPI. Judge you, what glories?

DAW. Nay, I'll read 'em myself, too: an author must recite his own works. It is a madrigal of modesty.

»Modest and fair, for fair and good are near,

Neighbours, howe'er –«

DAU. Very good.

CLE. Aye, is't not?

DAW.

»No noble virtue ever was alone,

But two in one.«

DAU. Excellent!

CLE. That again, I pray, Sir John.

DAU. It has something in't like rare wit, and sense.

CLE. Peace.

DAW.

»No noble virtue ever was alone,

But two in one.

Then when I praise sweet modesty, I praise

Bright beauty's rays:

And having praised both beauty and modesty,

I have praised thee.«

DAU. Admirable!

CLE. How it chimes, and cries tink i' the close, divinely!

DAU. Aye, 'tis Seneca.

CLE. No, I think 'tis Plutarch.

DAW.