_Boy._ Faith Sir, 'tis the fashion of our Gentry, to have their horses wait at door like men, while the beasts their Masters, are within at rack and manger, 'twould have discover'd much. _Laz._ I will lay by these habits, forms, and grave respects of what I am, and be my self; only my appetite, my fire, my soul, my being, my dear appetite shall go along with me, arm'd with whose strength, I fearless will attempt the greatest danger dare oppose my fury: I am resolv'd where ever that thou art, most sacred dish, hid from unhallow'd eyes, to find thee out. Be'st thou in Hell, rap't by _Proserpina_, To be a rival in black _Pluto's_ love; Or mov'st thou in the heavens, a form Divine: Lashing the lazie Sphear[s], Or if thou be'st return'd to thy first Being, Thy mother Sea, the[re] will I seek thee forth. Earth, Air, nor Fire, Nor the black shades below shall bar my sight So daring is my powerful appetite. _Boy._ Sir, you may save this long voyage, and take a shorter cut: you have forgot your self, the fish head's here, your own imaginations have made you mad. _Laz._ Term it a jealous fury, good my boy. _Boy._ Faith Sir term it what you will, you must use other terms [ere] you can get it. _Laz._ The looks of my sweet love are fair, Fresh and feeding as the air. _Boy._ Sir, you forget your self. _Laz._ Was never seen so rare a head, Of any Fish alive or dead. _Boy._ Good Sir remember: this is the house, Sir. _Laz._ Cursed be he that dare not venture. _Boy._ Pity your self, Sir, and leave this fury. _Laz._ For such a prize, and so I enter. [_Exit_ Lazarello _and Boy_. _Pan._ Dun's i'th' mire, get out again how he can: My honest gallant, I'll shew you one trick more Than e'er the fool your father dream'd of yet. _Madona Julia_? _Enter_ Madona Julia, _a Whore_. _Julia._ What news my sweet rogue, my dear sins-broker, what? good news? _Pan._ There is a kind of ignorant thing, Much like a Courtier, now gone in. _Jul._ Is he gallant? _Pan._ He shines not very gloriously, nor does he wear one skin perfum'd to keep the other sweet; his coat is not in _Or_, nor does the world run yet on wheels with him; he's rich enough, and has a small thing follows him, like to a boat tyed to a tall ships tail: give him entertainment, be light, and flashing like a Meteor, hug him about the neck, give him a kiss, and lisping cry, good Sir; and he's thine own, as fast as he were tied to thine arms by Indenture[s]. _Jul._ I dare doe more than this, if he be o'th' true Court cut; I'll take him out a lesson worth the Learning: but we are but their Apes; what's he worth?