_Ros._ Or rather, your glow-worm represents your wit, which only seems to have fire in it, though indeed 'tis but an _ignis fatuus_, and shines only in the dark dead night of fools' admiration. _Mat._ Lady, my wit hath spurs, if it were dispos'd to ride you. 211 _Ros._ Faith, sir, your wit's spurs have but walking rowels; dull, blunt, they will not draw blood: the gentlemen-ushers may admit them the presence, for any wrong they can do to ladies. _Bal._ Truly, I have strained a note above ela[180] for a device: look you, 'tis a fair-ruled singing book; the word, _Perfect, if it were prick'd_. _Fla._ Though you are mask'd, I can guess who you are by your wit. You are not the exquisite Balurdo, the most rarely-shaped Balurdo. 221 _Bal._ Who, I? No, I am not Sir Jeffrey Balurdo. I am not as well known by my wit as an alehouse by a red lattice.[181] I am not worthy to love and be beloved of Flavia. _Fla._ I will not scorn to favour such good parts As are applauded in your rarest self. 227 _Bal._ Truly, you speak wisely, and like a jantlewoman of fourteen years of age. You know the stone called _lapis_; the nearer it comes to the fire, the hotter it is: and the bird, which the geometricians call _avis_, the farther it is from the earth, the nearer it is to the heaven; and love, the nigher it is to the flame, the more remote (there's a word, remote!) the more remote it is from the frost. Your wit is quick; a little thing pleaseth a young lady, and a small favour contenteth an old courtier; and so, sweet mistress, I truss my codpiece point. 238 _Enter_ FELICHE. _Pier._ What might import this flourish? Bring us word. _Feli._ Stand away: here's such a company of flyboats,[182] hulling[183] about this galleasse[184] of greatness, that there's no boarding him. Do you hear, yon thing call'd duke? _Pier._ How now, blunt Feliche; what's the news? _Feli._ Yonder's a knight, hath brought Andrugio's head, And craves admittance to your chair of state. _Cornets sound a senet. Enter_ ANDRUGIO _in armour_. _Pier._ Conduct him with attendance sumptuous; Sound all the pleasing instruments of joy; Make triumph stand on tiptoe whilst we meet: O sight most gracious, O revenge most sweet! 250 _And. We vow, by the honour of our birth, to recompense any man that bringeth Andrugio's head, with twenty thousand double pistolets, and the endearing to our choicest love._ _Pier._ We still with most unmoved resolve[185] confirm Our large munificence, and here breathe A sad and solemn protestation: When I recall this vow, O, let our house Be even commanded, stain'd, and trampled on, As worthless rubbish of nobility. 260