GUM. Now do I look like one of the pillars in the Exchange. [_Exit._ BUD. _Sweet lady, smile on me._ CURDS. [_Aside._] Hissing adders! BUD. _Now merrily:_ _For if thou frown on me,_ _Sure I shall die._ BOTH. _Sure I shall die, &c._ CURDS. Croaking toads. BUD. _Thy eyes, like a cockatrice,_ _Kill with a look:_ _They shine like the sun,_ _I'd swear on a book._ CURDS. Away, screech-owls! BOTH. _I swear on a book, &c._ [_Exit_ CURDS. BUD. Stay, Ditty, she is deaf, and would not hear though Orpheus played, nor be moved though the stones and trees danced. DITTY. Give me thy letter then--I'll run after her and deliver it myself. BUD. Prythee, do, kind-hearted Ditty. DITTY. O, what a nimble Cupid shall I be! Venus herself will mistake me for her boy. BUD. I'll wait here till thou returnest. [_Exit_ DITTY.[245] SCENE IX. _Enter_ BRISTLE _and_ HEATH. BRIS. What, did she melt easily? Was she pliable? HEATH. O, like cobbler's wax; she stuck to my fingers: I could hardly get her off, and had much ado to persuade her not to undo herself quite. She would have had me gone home and took all; nay, would have robbed her aunt too, but that I should cheat her sufficiently. This will be the best day's work I have done this many a year. BRIS. And yet all my rhetoric could scarce persuade you to be wise. HEATH. I am thy scholar, and thou shalt find I'll prove an apt one. If I am not as perfect at the art as thyself in a short time, may I never be made free, but always steal for others, and be hanged myself. BRIS. Yet still thou owest thy learning unto me; if I had not been thy master, thou might'st have sat at home now with a cup of cold water and thy precious jewel, a contented mind, wishing thou hadst but money enough to pay a forfeit for being drunk, though thy empty pockets forced thee to be sober. HEATH. Come, prythee, leave; I myself do now laugh at my former ignorance. Thou hast infused a new soul into me; thou hast played hocus-pocus with me, I think, and juggled Gusmond or country Tom's legerdemain into me. There's not such a change in all the Metamorphosis. BRIS. And now thou hast[246] bargained with thy whey-faced wench, what hast thou gained by the project? nothing but wit.