_Bo_. Hold up; so, sir, now away. Oh Mistris, your scantling, most sweete mistriss, most derydent starre. _Acut_. Then most rydent starre, faire fall ye. _Grac_. Nay tis the Moone her self, for there's her man and her Dogge before. _Bosse_. I, sir, but the man is not in the moone, and my bush is before me, _ergo_, not at my backe, _et ergo_, not moone sir. _Gent_. What's your will sir? _Acut_. That you would leave us. _Boss_. Leave you! zounds, sir! we scorne their companies, come they are still, doe not open to them, we have no Conies to catch. [_Exeunt[228] Getica and Boss, with the dog_. _Acut_. Away, keepe no distance, even both together, for wit ye may be Coacht together. What sleeke-browde Saint can see this Idiotisme, The shape and workmanship of omnipotency To be so blinde with drugs of beastlinesse, That will not bend the browe and bite the lippe, Trouble his quiet soule with venome spleene And feare least the all over-seeer Can without vengeance see these ignomies? _Grac_. Why, therfore are they belooved like Sargeants and entertained like Beggers; Think'st thou but any honorable Gate, But will be shut against these Butterflies? _Acut_. Oh _Graccus_! thou beguil'st opinion: The Gates of great men stand more wide To entertaine a foole then _Cresus_ armes To hug the Golden God; and faster bard Against necessitie then _Dives_ entrance At _Olympus_ gate. _Enter Servulus,[229] Scillicet, Philautus and boy_. _Servu_.[230] Fa, la, sol, lasol; Boy, a Glasse. _Boy_. Tis but one and all, sir. _Acut_. Angels protect us, what have we heare? _Boy_. Ye haue a good memorie, Sir, for they are five minutes ere windefall of your Glasse. _Ser_. Sir, be credible, tis ballanst to be superlative politicke custome in these houres to dwell in shallowe accoutrements, as a defence for the abilitie of his pursse from the infringed Oath of some impudent face, that will borrowe a gentlemans revenewes if he be vestally adornd: Ile tell you sir by this bright Horrison-- _Scil_. A word, I pray yee, sir, ere ye go any further: Boy, my Tables. _Boy_. Your Tables are ready, Sir, and all the men ye keep which is indeede halfe a Boy, _Scillicet Videlicet_. _Scil_. I pray ye let me request that oath of you. _Serv_. A graceful enquirie, and well observ'd: Sir, my company shall make ye copious of novelties, let your Tables befriend your memorie: write, 'by this bright Horrison.' _Phy_. 'Here's[231] none but only I' [_sing_]; Boy, how likest thou my head of hayre? _Boy_. Your Glasse may flatter ye, but truely I will not; your head is not a hayre better than it should be. _Phy_. Is there any scarcitie of haire, Boy? _Boy_. Somewhat thin and yet there is more hayre than wit.[232] _Phy_. How, Boy? _Boy_. Then wit of man can number sir, take it i'th right sence, I pray yee. _Phy_. Most ingenious!