[69] Old eds. "_Ros._" [70] Thick, curdled. [71] Cleft, rifted. [72] Old eds. "unequal," which Dilke explains to mean "the partial and unjust representative"--an explanation which I wholly fail to understand. Later in the present play (p. 42, l. 309) we have "_unmatch'd mirrors_ of calamity." [73] Wilt. [74] Dilke quotes appositely from _Richard II._:-- "_Rich._ And, say, what store of parting tears were shed? _Aum._ 'Faith none by me: except _the north-east wind_, Which then blew bitterly against our faces, _Awak'd the sleepy rheum_; and so, by chance, Did grace our hollow parting with a tear." [75] "Our fashion is not curious," _i.e._, Amazons do not stand on ceremony. [76] Rossaline, seeing Antonio make way for her to pass, insists on giving him precedence. "No empty compliments! take the lead." ACT II. SCENE I. _Palace of the Duke of Venice._ _Enter_ CATZO, _with a capon eating_; DILDO _following him_. _Dil._ Hah, Catzo, your master wants a clean trencher: do you hear? Balurdo calls for your diminutive attendance. _Cat._ The belly hath no ears,[77] Dildo. _Dil._ Good pug,[78] give me some capon. _Cat._ No capon, no not a bit, ye smooth bully;[78] capon's no meat for Dildo: milk, milk, ye glibbery urchin, is food for infants. _Dil._ Upon mine honour. _Cat._ Your honour with a paugh! 'slid, now every jackanapes loads his back with the golden coat of honour; every ass puts on the lion's skin and roars his honour. Upon your honour? By my lady's pantable,[79] I fear I shall live to hear a vintner's boy cry, "'Tis rich neat canary." Upon my honour! 14 _Dil._ My stomach's up. _Cat._ I think thou art hungry. _Dil._ The match of fury is lighted, fastened to the linstock[80] of rage, and will presently set fire to the touch-hole of intemperance, discharging the double culverin of my incensement in the face of thy opprobrious speech. _Cat._ I'll stop the barrel thus: good Dildo, set not fire to the touch-hole. 22 _Dil._ My rage is stopp'd, and I will eat to the health of the fool, thy master Castilio. _Cat._ And I will suck the juice of the capon, to the health of the idiot, thy master Balurdo. _Dil._ Faith, our masters are like a case[81] of rapiers sheathed in one scabbard of folly. _Cat._ Right Dutch blades. But was't not rare sport at the sea-battle, whilst rounce robble hobble roared from the ship-sides, to view our masters pluck their plumes and drop their feathers, for fear of being men of mark. 32