Gent.  What’s your will sir?

Acut.  That you would leave us.

Boss.  Leave you! zounds, sir! we scorne their companies, come they are still, doe not open to them, we have no Conies to catch.

[Exeunt[228] Getica and Boss, with the dog.

Acut.  Away, keepe no distance, even both together,
for wit ye may be Coacht together. 
What sleeke-browde Saint can see this Idiotisme,
The shape and workmanship of omnipotency
To be so blinde with drugs of beastlinesse,
That will not bend the browe and bite the lippe,
Trouble his quiet soule with venome spleene
And feare least the all over-seeer
Can without vengeance see these ignomies?

Grac.  Why, therfore are they belooved like Sargeants and entertained like Beggers; Think’st thou but any honorable Gate, But will be shut against these Butterflies?

Acut.  Oh Graccus! thou beguil’st opinion: 
The Gates of great men stand more wide
To entertaine a foole then Cresus armes
To hug the Golden God; and faster bard
Against necessitie then Dives entrance
At Olympus gate.

    Enter Servulus,[229] Scillicet, Philautus and boy.

Servu.[230] Fa, la, sol, lasol; Boy, a Glasse.

Boy.  Tis but one and all, sir.

Acut.  Angels protect us, what have we heare?

Boy.  Ye haue a good memorie, Sir, for they are five minutes ere windefall of your Glasse.

Ser.  Sir, be credible, tis ballanst to be superlative politicke custome in these houres to dwell in shallowe accoutrements, as a defence for the abilitie of his pursse from the infringed Oath of some impudent face, that will borrowe a gentlemans revenewes if he be vestally adornd:  Ile tell you sir by this bright Horrison—­

Scil.  A word, I pray yee, sir, ere ye go any further:  Boy, my Tables.

Boy.  Your Tables are ready, Sir, and all the men ye keep which is indeede halfe a Boy, Scillicet Videlicet.

Scil.  I pray ye let me request that oath of you.

Serv.  A graceful enquirie, and well observ’d:  Sir, my company shall make ye copious of novelties, let your Tables befriend your memorie:  write, ‘by this bright Horrison.’

Phy.  ‘Here’s[231] none but only I’ [sing]; Boy, how likest thou my head of hayre?

Boy.  Your Glasse may flatter ye, but truely I will not; your head is not a hayre better than it should be.

Phy.  Is there any scarcitie of haire, Boy?

Boy.  Somewhat thin and yet there is more hayre than wit.[232]

Phy.  How, Boy?

Boy.  Then wit of man can number sir, take it i’th right sence, I pray yee.

Phy.  Most ingenious!

Acu.  O muffle muffle, good Graccus, do not taint thy sence
With sight of these infectious animalles,
’Less[233] reason in thee have the upper hand
To governe sence, to see and shun the sight. 
Here’s new discovered sins, past all the rest;
Men strive to practice how to sweare the best.’