WIT. Unto yourselves this trial I remit. Look on me better, and mark my person well. SCIENCE. Thy look is like to one, that came out of hell. REASON. If thou be Wit, let see, what tokens thou canst tell. How cam'st thou first acquainted here? what said we? How did we like thy suit, what entertainment made we? WIT. What tokens? SCIENCE. Yea, what tokens? speak, and let us know. WIT. Tokens good store I can rehearse a-row: First, as I was advised by my mother Nature, My lackey Will presented you with my picture. SCIENCE. Stay there, now look, how these two faces agree! WIT. This is the very same that you received from me. SCIENCE. From thee? why look, they are no more like, Than chalk to cheese, than black to white. REASON. To put thee out of doubt, if thou think we say not true, It were good for thee in a glass thy face to view. WIT. Well-remembered, and a glass I have indeed, Which glass you gave me to use at need. REASON. Hast thou the glass, which I to Wit did give? WIT. I have it in my purse, and will keep it, while I live. REASON. This makes[426] me muse how should he come thereby? WIT. Sir, muse no more, for it is even I, To whom you gave the glass, and here it is. REASON. We are content thou try thy case by this. WIT. [_Looking in the glass_. Either my glass is wonderfully spotted, Or else my face is wonderfully blotted. This is not my coat; why, where had I this weed? By the mass, I look like a very fool indeed. O haps of haps, O rueful chance to me! O Idleness, woe-worth the time, that I was ruled by thee! Why did I lay my head within thy lap to rest? Why was I not advis'd by her, that wish'd and will'd[427] me best? O ten times treble[428] blessed wights, whose corps in grave do lie: That are not driven to behold these wretched cares which I[429]! On me you[430] furies all, on me, have poured out your spite, Come now and slay me at the last, and rid my sorrows quite. What coast shall me receive? where shall I show my head? The world will say this same is he that, if he list, had sped. This same is he, that took an enterprise in hand; This same is he that scarce one blow his enemy did withstand. This same is he, that fought and fell in open field: This same is he that in the song of Idleness did yield. This same is he that was in way to win the game: To join himself whereby he should have won immortal fame; And now is wrapp'd in woe, and buried in despair. O happy case for thee, if death would rid thee quite of care! ACT V., SCAENA 2. SHAME, REASON, SCIENCE, WIT. REASON. Shame. SHAME. Who calls for Shame? REASON. Here is a merchant,[431] Shame, for thee to tame. SHAME. A shame come to you all, for I am almost lame With trudging up and down to them that lose their game. REASON. And here is one, whom thou must rightly blame, That hath preferr'd his folly to his fame. SHAME. Who? this good fellow? what call you his name? REASON. Wit, that on wooing to lady Science came.