_Sim._ Mistress Perpetuana's fool! Ha, ha! there lies a jest. Signor, the fool promised me he would not leave me. 161 _Bid._ I know the fool well. He will stick to you: does not use to forsake any youth that is enamour'd on another man's wife; he strives to keep company with a crimson satin suit continually; he loves to be all one with a critic; a good wit, self-conceited, a hawk-bearer, a dog-keeper, and great with the nobility; he doats upon a mere scholar, an honest flat fool; but, above all, he is all one with a fellow whose cloak hath a better inside than his outside, and his body richer lined than his brain. 171 _Sim._ Uds so! I am cozened. _Pip._ Pray you, master, pardon me; I must lose my share. _Sim._ Give me my purse again. _Bid._ You gave it me, and I'll keep't. _Qua._ Well done, my honest crack, thou shalt be my ingle for't. _Lav._ He shall keep all, maugre thy beardless chin, thy eyes. 180 _Sim._ I may go starve till midsummer quarter. _Qua._ Fool! Get thee hence. _Pip._ I'll to school again, that I will: I left in _ass in presenti_, and I'll begin in _ass in presenti_; and so good night, fair gentry. [_Exit_ PIPPO. _Qua._ The triple idiot's coxcomb crown[553] thee, Bitter epigrams confound thee; Cuckold be whene'er thou bride thee; Through every comic scene be drawn; Never come thy clothes from pawn; 190 Never may thy shame be sheathed, Never kiss a wench sweet-breathed. [_Cornets sound._ _Enter as many Pages with torches as you can_; RANDOLFO, ANDREA,[554] JACOMO _bare-headed; the Duke with attendants_. _Ran._ Cease! the duke approacheth: 'tis almost night, For the duke's up: now begins his day. Come, grace his entrance. Lights! lights! Now 'gins our play. _Duke._ Still these same bawling pipes: sound softer strains! Slumber our sense: tut! these are vulgar strains. Cannot your trembling wires throw a chain Of powerful rapture 'bout our mazèd sense? Why is our chair thus cushion'd tapestry, 200 Why is our bed tirèd with wanton sports, Why are we clothed in glistering attires, If common bloods can hear, can feel, Can sit as soft, lie as lascivious, Strut[555] all as rich as the greatest potentate:-- Soul! and you cannot feast my thristing[556] ears With aught but what the lip of common birth can taste, Take all away; your labour's idly waste. What sport for night? _Lam._ A comedy, entitled Temperance. 210 _Duke._ What sot elects that subject for the court? What should dame Temperance do here? Away! The itch on Temperance, your moral play!