SCENE I. _Albano's house._ _Enter_ CELIA, MELETZA, LYZABETTA, _and_ LUCIA. _Cel._ Faith, sister, I long to play with a feather! Prithee, Lucia, bring the shuttlecock. _Mel._ Out on him, light-pated fantastic! He's like one of our gallants at---- _Lyz._ I wonder who thou speak'st well of. _Mel._ Why, of myself; for, by my troth, I know none else will. _Cel._ Sweet sister Meletza, let's sit in judgment a little, faith, of my servant, Monsieur[511] Laverdure. _Mel._ Troth well, for a servant,[512] but for a husband [_sighs_] I----[513] 11 _Lyz._ Why, why? _Mel._ Why, he is not a plain fool, nor fair, nor fat, nor rich, rich fool. But he is a knight; his honour will give the passado in the presence to-morrow night; I hope he will deserve. All I can say is as, as the common fiddlers will say[514] in their "God send you well to do." _Lyz._ How think'st thou of the amorous Jacomo? _Mel._ Jacomo? why, on my bare troth---- _Cel._ Why bare troth? 20 _Mel._ Because my troth is like his chin, t'hath no hair on't. God's me! his face looks like the head of a tabour; but trust me he hath a good wit. _Lyz._ Who told you so? _Mel._ One that knows; one that can tell. _Cel._ Who's that? _Mel._ Himself. _Lyz._ Well, wench; thou hadst a servant, one Fabius; what hast thou done with him? 29 _Mel._ I done with him? Out of him, puppy! By this feather, his beard is directly brick-colour, and perfectly fashion'd like the husk of a chestnut; he kisses with the driest lip. Fie on him! _Cel._ O, but your servant Quadratus, the absolute courtier! _Mel._ Fie, fie! Speak no more of him: he lives by begging. He is a fine courtier, flatters admirable, kisses "fair madam," smells surpassing sweet; wears and holds up the arras, supports the tapestry, when I pass into the presence, very gracefully; and I assure you---- 40 _Luc._ Madam, here is your shuttlecock. _Mel._ Sister, is not your waiting-wench rich? _Cel._ Why, sister, why? _Mel._ Because she can flatter. Prithee call her not: she has twenty-four hours to madam[515] yet. Come, you; you prate: i'faith, I'll toss you from post to pillar! _Cel._ You post and I pillar. _Mel._ No, no, you are the only post; you must support, prove a wench, and bear; or else all the building of your delight will fall---- 50 _Cel._ Down. _Lyz._ What, must I stand out? _Mel._ Ay, by my faith, till you be married. _Lyz._ Why do you toss then? _Mel._ Why, I am wed, wench. _Cel._ Prithee to whom?