_Ped._ And you have a propensitude to him, he shall be for you. I was solicited to grant him leave to play the lady in comedies presented by children; but I knew his voice was too small,[461] and his stature too low. Sing, sing a treble, Holofernes: sing. _The Song._ A very small sweet voice, I'll assure you. _Qua._ 'Tis smally sweet indeed. _Sim._ A very pretty child. Hold up thy head. There; buy thee some plums. 110 _Qua._ Nay, they must play; you go along with us. _Ped._ _Ludendi venia est petita et concessa._ _All._ _Gratias._ _Sim._ Pippo's my page. How like you him? Ha! has he not a good face, ha? _Lav._ Exceedingly amiable. Come away; I long to see my love, my Celia. _Sim._ Carry my rapier; hold up so; good child: stay, gallants. Umph! a sweet face. [_Exeunt_[462] _all but_ LAMPATHO _and_ QUADRATUS. _Lam._ I relish not this mirth; my spirit is untwist; My heart is ravell'd out in discontents. 121 I am deep-thoughtful, and I shoot my soul Through all creation of omnipotence. _Qua._ What, art melancholy, Lamp? I'll feed thy humour: I'll give thee reason strait to hang thyself. Mark't, mark't: in Heaven's handiwork there's naught-- Believe it. _Lam._ In Heaven's handiwork there's naught, None more vile, accursed, reprobate to bliss, Than man; and[463] 'mong men a scholar most. 130 Things only fleshly sensitive, an ox or horse, They live and eat, and sleep, and drink, and die, And are not touched with recollections Of things o'er-past, or stagger'd infant doubts Of things succeeding; but leave the manly beasts, And give but pence apiece to have a sight Of beastly man now---- _Sim._ [_from within_]. What so, Lampatho! Good truth, I will not pay your ordinary if you come not. _Lam._ Dost thou hear that voice? I'll make a parrot now 140 As good a man as he in fourteen nights. I never heard him vent a syllable Of his own creating since I knew the use Of eyes and ears. Well, he's perfect blest, Because a perfect beast. I'll gage my heart He knows no difference essential 'Twixt my dog and him. The whoreson sot is blest, Is rich in ignorance, makes fair usance on't, And every day augments his barbarism. So love me calmness, I do envy him for't. 150 I was a scholar: seven useful springs Did I deflower in quotations Of cross'd opinions 'bout the soul of man. The more I learnt the more I learnt to doubt: Knowledge and wit, faith's foes, turn faith about. _Sim._ [_from within_]. Nay, come, good signior. I stay all the gentlemen here. I would fain give my pretty page a pudding-pie.