CRI. And most worthy a true voluptuary, Jove! what a coil these musk-worms take to purchase another's delight? for themselves, who bear the odours, have ever the least sense of them. Yet I do like better the prodigality of jewels and clothes, whereof one passeth to a man's heirs; the other at least wears out time. This presently expires, and, without continual riot in reparation, is lost: which whoso strives to keep, it is one special argument to me, that, affecting to smell better than other men, he doth indeed smell far worse. MER. I know you will say, it sits well, sir. TAI. Good faith, if it do not, sir, let your mistress be judge. MER. By heaven, if my mistress do not like it, I'll make no more conscience to undo thee, than to undo an oyster. TAI. Believe it, there's ne'er a mistress in the world can mislike it. MER. No, not goodwife tailor, your mistress; that has only the judgment to heat your pressing-tool. But for a court-mistress that studies these decorums, and knows the proportion of every cut to a hair, knows why such a colour is cut upon such a colour, and when a satin is cut upon six taffataes, will look that we should dive into the depth of the cut--Give me my scarf. Shew some ribands, sirrah. Have you the feather? FEAT. Ay, sir. MER. Have you the jewel? JEW. Yes, sir. MER. What must I give for the hire on't? JEW. You shall give me six crowns, sir. MER. Six crowns! By heaven, 'twere a good deed to borrow it of thee to shew, and never let thee have it again. JEW. I hope your worship will not do so, sir. MER. By Jove, sir, there be such tricks stirring, I can tell you, and worthily too. Extorting knaves, that live by these court-decorums, and yet--What's your jewel worth, I pray? JEW. A hundred crowns, sir. MER. A hundred crowns, and six for the loan on't an hour! what's that in the hundred for the year? These impostors would not be hang'd! Your thief is not comparable to them, by Hercules. Well, put it in, and the feather; you will have it and you shall, and the pox give you good on't! AMO. Give me my confects, my moscadini, and place those colours in my hat. MER. These are Bolognian ribands, I warrant you. MIL. In truth, sir, if they be not right Granado silk-- MER. A pox on you, you'll all say so. MIL. You give me not a penny, sir. MER. Come, sir, perfume my devant; "May it ascend, like solemn sacrifice, Into the nostrils of the Queen of Love!" HED. Your French ceremonies are the best. ANA. Monsieur, signior, your Solemn Address is too long; the ladies long to have you come on. AMO. Soft, sir, our coming on is not so easily prepared. Signior Fig! PER. Ay, sir. AMO. Can you help my complexion, here?