_Ros._ Nobody, good sweet uncle. I tell you, sir, I have thirty-nine servants, and my monkey that makes the fortieth. Now I love all of them lightly for something, but affect none of them seriously for anything. One's a passionate fool, and he flatters me above belief; the second's a testy ape, and he rails at me beyond reason; the third's as grave as some censor, and he strokes up his mustachios three times, and makes six plots of set faces, before he speaks one wise word; the fourth's as dry as the bur of an hartichoke; the fifth paints, and hath always a good colour for what he speaks; the sixth----. 164 _Pier._ Stay, stay, sweet niece, what makes you thus suspect your gallants' worth? _Ros._ O, when I see one wear a periwig, I dread his hair; another wallow in a great slop,[175] I mistrust the proportion of his thigh; and wears a ruffled boot,[176] I fear the fashion of his leg. Thus, something in each thing, one trick in everything makes me mistrust imperfection in all parts; and there's the full point of my addiction. 172 _The cornets sound a senet. Enter_ GALEATZO, MATZAGENTE, _and_ BALURDO _in maskery_. _Pier._ The room's too scant: boys, stand in there, close. _Mel._ [_To_ GALEATZO.] In faith, fair sir, I am too sad to dance. _Pier._ How's that, how's that? too sad? By heaven, dance, And grace him too, or go to----, I say no more. _Mel._ A burning glass, the word[177] _splendente Phoebo_? It is too curious, I conceit it not. _Gal._ Faith, I'll tell thee. I'll no longer burn, Than you will shine and smile upon my love. 180 For look ye, fairest, by your pure sweets, I do not dote upon your excellence; And faith, unless you shed your brightest beams Of sunny favour and acceptive grace Upon my tender love, I do not burn: Marry, but shine, and I'll reflect your beams With fervent ardour. Faith! I would be loath to flatter thee, fair soul, because I love, not dote, court like thy husband, which thy father swears to-morrow morn I must be. This is all; and now from henceforth, trust me, Mellida, I'll not speak one wise word to thee more. _Mel._ I trust ye. 192 _Gal._ By my troth, I'll speak pure fool[178] to thee now. _Mel._ You will speak the liker yourself. _Gal._ Good faith, I'll accept of the coxcomb, so you will not refuse the bable.[179] _Mel._ Nay, good sweet, keep them both; I am enamoured of neither. _Gal._ Go to, I must take you down for this. Lend me your ear. 200 _Ros._ A glow-worm? the word,--_Splendescit tantùm tenebris_. _Mat._ O, lady, the glow-worm figurates my valour, which shineth brightest in most dark, dismal, and horrid achievements.