_Mal._ Do, kick, thou hugely-horned old duke's ox, good Master Make-pleas. _Pietro._ How dost thou live nowadays, Malevole? _Mal._ Why, like the knight Sir Patrick Penlohans,[362] with killing o' spiders for my lady's monkey.[363] _Pietro._ How dost spend the night? I hear thou never sleepest. _Mal._ O, no; but dream the most fantastical! O heaven! O fubbery, fubbery! _Pietro._ Dream! what dreamest? 90 _Mal._ Why, methinks I see that signior pawn his footcloth,[364] that metreza[365] her plate: this madam takes physic, that t'other monsieur may minister to her: here is a pander jewelled; there is[366] a fellow in shift of satin this day, that could not shift a shirt t'other night: here a Paris supports that Helen; there's a Lady Guinever bears up that Sir Lancelot: dreams, dreams, visions, fantasies, chimeras, imaginations, tricks, conceits!--[_To_ PREPASSO.] Sir Tristram Trimtram, come aloft,[367] Jack-an-apes, with a whim-wham: here's a knight of the land of Catito shall play at trap with any page in Europe; do the sword-dance with any morris-dancer in Christendom; ride at the ring[368] till the fin[369] of his eyes look as blue as the welkin; and run the wildgoose-chase even with Pompey the Huge.[370] 105 _Pietro._ You run! _Mal._ To the devil.--Now, signior Guerrino, that thou from a most pitied prisoner shouldst grow a most loathed flatterer!--Alas, poor Celso, thy star's oppressed: thou art an honest lord: 'tis pity. 110 _Equato._ Is't pity? _Mal._ Ay, marry is't, philosophical Equato; and 'tis pity that thou, being so excellent a scholar by art, should be so ridiculous a fool by nature.--I have a thing to tell you, duke: bid 'em avaunt, bid 'em avaunt. _Pietro._ Leave us, leave us. [_Exeunt all except_ PIETRO _and_ MALEVOLE. Now, sir, what is't? _Mal._ Duke, thou art a becco,[371] a cornuto. _Pietro._ How! _Mal._ Thou art a cuckold. 120 _Pietro._ Speak, unshale[372] him quick. _Mal._ With most tumbler-like nimbleness. _Pietro._ Who? by whom? I burst with desire. _Mal._ Mendoza is the man makes thee a horned beast; duke, 'tis Mendoza cornutes thee. _Pietro._ What conformance? relate; short, short. _Mal._ As a lawyer's beard. There is an old crone in the court, her name is Maquerelle, She is my mistress, sooth to say, and she doth ever tell me. Blirt o' rhyme, blirt o' rhyme! Maquerelle is a cunning bawd; I am an honest villain; thy wife is a close drab; and thou art a notorious cuckold. Farewell, duke. 132 _Pietro._ Stay, stay. _Mal._ Dull, dull duke, can lazy patience make lame revenge? O God, for a woman to make a man that which God never created, never made! _Pietro._ What did God never make?