_Lam._ Let me not live else. I protest I will strain my utmost sinews in strengthening your precious estimate; I protest I will do all rights in all good offices that friendship can touch, or amplest virtue deserve. 71 _Qua._ I protest, believe him not; I'll beg thee, Laverdure, For a conceal'd idiot,[432] if thou credit him; He's a hyena,[433] and with civet scent Of perfumed words, draws to make a prey For laughter of thy credit. O this hot crackling love, That blazeth on an instant, flames me out On the least puff of kindness, with "protest, protest!" Catzo, I dread these hot protests, that press, Come on so fast. No, no! away, away! 80 You are a common friend, or will betray. Let me clip amity that's got with suit; I hate this whorish love that's prostitute. _Lav._ Horn on my tailor! could he not bring home My satin taffeta or tissue suit, But I must needs be cloth'd in woollen thus? Bidet, what says he for my silver hose, And primrose satin doublet? God's my life! Gives he no more observance to my body? _Lam._ O, in that last suit, gentle Laverdure, 90 Visit my lodging. By Apollo's front, Do but inquire my name. O straight they'll say, Lampatho suits himself in such a hose. _Sim._ Mark that, Quadratus. _Lam._ Consorts himself with such a doublet. _Sim._ Good, good, good! O Jesu! admirable. _Lav._ La la, ly ro, sir! _Lam._ O Pallas! Quadratus, hark! hark! A most complete phantasma, a most ridiculous humour; prithee shoot him through and through with a jest; make him lie by the lee, thou basilisco[434] of wit. 101 _Sim._ O Jesu! admirably well spoken; angelical tongue! _Qua._ Gnathonical coxcomb! _Lam._ Nay, prithee, fut, fear not, he's no edge-tool; you may jest with him. _Sim._ No edge-tool. Oh! _Qua._ Tones of heaven itself. _Sim._ Tones of heaven itself. _Qua._ By blessedness, I thought so. _Lam._ Nay, when?[435] when? 110 _Qua._ Why, thou pole-head![436] thou Janus! thou poltroon! thou protest! thou earwig that wrigglest into men's brains! thou dirty cur, that bemirest with thy fawning! thou---- _Lam._ Obscure me! or---- _Qua._ Signior Laverdure, by the heart of an honest man, this Jebusite--this, confusion to him! this worse than I dare to name--abuseth thee most incomprehensibly. Is this your protest of most obsequious vassalage? Protest to strain your utmost sum, your most---- 120 _Lam._ So Phoebus warm my brain, I'll rhyme thee dead. Look for the satire: if all the sour juice Of a tart brain can souse thy estimate, I'll pickle thee.