They'll believe themselves to be just such men as we make 'em, neither more nor less. They have nothing, not the use of their senses, but by tradition.

CLE. See! Sir Amorous has his towel on already. Have you persuaded your cousin?

 

He enters like a sewer

 

LA F. Yes, 'tis very feasible: she'll do anything she says, rather than the La Fools shall be disgraced.

DAU. She is a noble kinswoman. It will be such a pestling device, Sir Amorous! It will pound all your enemy's practices to powder, and blow him up with his own mine, his own train.

LA F. Nay, we'll give fire, I warrant you.

CLE. But you must carry it privately, without any noise, and take no notice by any means ––

 

Enter Otter

 

OTT. Gentlemen, my Princess says you shall have all her silver dishes, festinate: and she's gone to alter her tire a little, and go with you ––

CLE. And yourself too, Captain Otter.

DAU. By any means, sir.

OTT. Yes, sir, I do mean it: but I would entreat my cousin Sir Amorous, and you gentlemen, to be suitors to my Princess, that I may carry my bull, and my bear, as well as my horse.

CLE. That you shall do, Captain Otter.

LA F. My cousin will never consent, gentlemen.

DAU. She must consent, Sir Amorous, to reason.

LA F. Why, she says they are no decorum among ladies.

OTT. But they are decora, and that's better, sir.

CLE. Aye, she must hear argument. Did not Pasiphae, who was a queen, love a bull? And was not Callisto, the mother of Arcas, turned into a bear, and made a star, Mistress Ursula, i' the heavens?

OTT. Oh God! That I could ha' said as much! I will have these stories painted i' the bear-garden, ex Ovidii metamorphosi.

DAU. Where is your Princess, Captain? Pray be our leader.

OTT. That I shall, sir.

CLE. Make haste, good Sir Amorous.

 

Exeunt

 

 

Scene 4

Morose's house

 

Enter Morose, Epicoene, Parson, Cutbeard

 

MOR. Sir, there's an angel for yourself, and a brace of angels for your cold. Muse not at this manage of my bounty. It is fit we should thank fortune, double to nature, for any benefit she confers upon us; besides, it is your imperfection, but my solace.

PAR. I thank your worship, so is it mine, now.

 

The parson speaks, as having a cold

 

MOR. What says he, Cutbeard?

CUT. He says, praesto, sir, whensoever your worship needs him, he can be ready with the like.