_Lam._ Open a bounteous ear, for I'll be free: Ample as Heaven, give my speech more room; Let me unbrace my breasts, strip up my sleeves, Stand like an executioner to vice, To strike his head off with the keener edge Of my sharp spirit. _Lav._ Room and good licence: come on! when, when? _Lam._ Now is my fury mounted. Fix your eyes; Intend your senses; bend your list'ning up; For I'll make greatness quake; I'll taw[481] the hide 160 Of thick-skinn'd Hugeness. _Lav._ 'Tis most gracious; we'll observe thee calmly. _Qua._ Hang on thy tongue's end. Come on! prithee do. _Lam._ I'll see you hanged first I thank you, sir, I'll none. This is the strain that chokes the theatres; That makes them crack with full-stuff'd audience; This is your humour only in request, Forsooth to rail; this brings your ears to bed; This people gape for; for this some do stare. This some would hear, to crack the author's neck; 170 This admiration and applause pursues; Who cannot rail? my humour's changed, 'tis clear: Pardon, I'll none; I prize my joints more dear. _Bid._ Master, master, I ha' descried the Perfumer in Albano's disguise. Look you! look you! Rare sport! rare sport! 176 _Alb._ I can contain my impatience no longer. You, Monsieur Cavalier, Saint Dennis,--you, capricious sir, Signior Caranto French Brawl,[482]--you, that must marry Celia Galanto,--is Albano drown'd now? Go wander, avaunt, knight-errant! Celia shall be no cuck-quean,[483]--my heir no beggar,--my plate no pawn,--my land no mortgage,--my wealth no food for thy luxuries,--my house no harbour for thy comrades,--my bed no booty for thy lusts! My anything shall be thy nothing. Go hence! pack, pack! avaunt! caper, caper! aloun, aloun! pass by, pass by! cloak your nose! away! vanish! wander! depart! slink by! away! 188 _Lav._ Hark you, Perfumer. Tell Jacomo, Randolfo, and Andrea,[484] 'twill not do;--look you, say no more, but--'twill not do. _Alb._ What Perfumer? what Jacomo? _Qua._ Nay, assure thee, honest Perfumer, good Francisco, we know all, man. Go home to thy civet box; look to the profit, commodity, or emolument of thy musk-cat's tail: go, clap on your round cap--my "what do you lack," sir,--for i'faith, good rogue, all's descried! _Alb._ What Perfumer? what musk-cat? what Francisco? What do you lack? Is't not enough that you kiss'd my wife? 200 _Lav._ Enough. _Alb._ Ay, enough! and may be, I fear me, too much; but you must flout me,--deride me,--scoff me,--keep out,--touch not my porch;--as for my wife!---- _Lav._ Stir to the door: dare to disturb the match, And by the---- _Alb._ My sword! menace Albano 'fore his own doors!