[65] A reference to the story in Petronius on which Chapman founded his _Widow's Tears_. [66] _i.e._ Shut up. [67] A word of two syllables, as in Shakespeare. ACT THE THIRD. SCENE I.--_A Room in_ AQUILINA'S _House_. _Enter_ AQUILINA _and her_ Maid. _Aquil._ Tell him I am gone to bed: tell him I am not at home: tell him I've better company with me, or anything; tell him, in short, I will not see him, the eternal troublesome vexatious fool; he's worse company than an ignorant physician. I'll not be disturbed at these unseasonable hours. _Maid._ But, madam, he's here already, just entered the doors. _Aquil._ Turn him out again, you unnecessary, useless, giddy-brained ass! If he will not be gone, set the house a-fire, and burn us both: I had rather meet a toad in my dish than that old hideous animal in my chamber to-night. _Enter_ ANTONIO.[68] _Ant._ Nacky, Nacky, Nacky--how dost do, Nacky? Hurry durry! I am come, little Nacky; past eleven o'clock, a late hour; time in all conscience to go to bed, Nacky--Nacky did I say? Ay, Nacky; Aquilina, lina, lina, quilina, quilina, quilina, Aquilina, Naquilina, Naquilina, Acky, Acky, Nacky, Nacky, queen Nacky--come, let's to bed--you fubbs, you pug you--you little puss--purree tuzzy--I am a senator. _Aquil._ You are a fool, I am sure. _Ant._ Maybe so too, sweetheart. Never the worse senator for all that. Come, Nacky, Nacky, let's have a game at romp, Nacky. _Aquil._ You would do well, signior, to be troublesome here no longer, but leave me to myself; be sober, and go home, sir. _Ant._ Home, Madonna? _Aquil._ Ay, home, sir. Who am I? _Ant._ Madonna, as I take it, you are my--you are--thou art my little Nicky Nacky--that's all! _Aquil._ I find you are resolved to be troublesome; and so, to make short of the matter in few words, I hate you, detest you, loathe you, I am weary of you, sick of you. Hang you, you are an old, silly, impertinent, impotent, solicitous coxcomb; crazy in your head and lazy in your body, love to be meddling with every thing; and if you had not money, you are good for nothing. _Ant._ Good for nothing! Hurry durry, I'll try that presently. Sixty-one years[69] old, and good for nothing! that's brave. [_To the Maid._] Come, come, come, Mistress Fiddle-faddle, turn you out for a season; go, turn out, I say; it is our will and pleasure to be private some moments--out, out when you are bid too--[_Puts her out and locks the door._] Good for nothing, you say? _Aquil._ Why, what are you good for?