+Lod.+ What, am I fitted, gallants? am I fitted? +Jas.+ To th' life, able to cheat suspicion; and so like Father Antony the confessor, that I protest There's not more semblance in a pair of eggs. +Jov.+ An apple cut in half is not so like. +Lod.+ Well, lords,[143] you're mad lords to counsel me to this. But now, in this habit, shall I know the very core of her heart and her little piddling sins, which will show in my book as foils to her giant-bodied virtues. +Jas.+ That will be admirable! +Jov.+ We'll step aside: by this she's upon coming! +Jas.+ We shall know all. +Lod.+ Reveal, confession! but go your ways: as much as may lawfully be revealed, we'll laugh at at next meeting. +Jas.+ Come, let's be gone. But once upon a time, sir, A beggar found a lark's nest; and, o'erjoy'd At his sudden glut, for he thought 'twas full of young ones, Looking, they were all gone: he was forc'd again to beg, For he found in the lark's nest a serpent's egg. So much good d'ye, sir. [_Exeunt._ _Enter +Dorothea+._ +Lod.+ Well, thou surpassest all the courtiers in these pretty ones, if a man had the wit to understand them. Yonder she comes: I can hardly forbear blushing, but that for discovering myself. Right reverend habit, I honour thee With a son's obedience, and do but borrow thee, As men would play with flies who, i' th' midst Of modest mirth, with care preserve themselves. +Dor.+ Hail, holy father! +Lod.+ Welcome, my chaste daughter! +Dor.+ Death having taken good father Jacomo, Upon the plenal and approv'd report Of your integrity and upright dealing---- +Lod.+ Delicate Doll! [_Aside._ +Dor.+ I have made a modest choice of you, grave sir, To be my ghostly father: and to you I fall For absolution. +Lod.+ Empty then, my daughter, That vessel of your flesh of all the dregs Which, since your last confession clear'd you, have Taken a settled habitation in you; And with a powerful sweet acknowledgment Hunt out those spirits which haunt that house of flesh. Tears make dry branches flourish green and fresh. +Dor.+ Since last I confess'd, then I do confess My first sin was, that my tailor bringing home My last new gown, having made the sleeves too flanting, In an unchristian passion I did bid The devil take him. +Lod.+ That was something harsh, dear daughter, Yet the more pardonable, for it may be your tailor Lies in hell night by night. Pray, to your second. +Dor.+ Next, in a more savage rage, my chambermaid Putting a little saffron in her starch,[144] I most unmercifully broke her head. +Lod.+ 'Twas rashly done too. But are you sure, dear daughter, The maid's head was not broke before?