Mockmode. Witty! oh by the universe I must be witty! I'll drink nothing else. I never was witty in all my life. I love jokes dearly. Here, Club, bring us a bottle of what d'ye call it—the witty liquor.
Bull. But I thought that all you that were bred at the University would be wits naturally?
Mock. The quite contrary, Madam, there's no such thing there. We dare not have wit there for fear of being counted rakes. Your solid philosophy is all read there, which is clear another thing. But now I will be a wit, by the universe.... Is that the witty liquor? Come fill the glasses. Now that I have found my mistress, I must next find my wits.
Club. So you had need, master, for those that find a mistress are generally out of their wits. (Gives him a glass.)
Mock. Come, fill for yourself. (They jingle and drink.) But where's the wit now, Club? Have you found it?
Club. Egad! master, I think 'tis a very good jest.
Mock. What?
Club. What? why drinking—you'll find, master, that this same gentleman in the straw doublet, this same will-i'-th'-wisp is a wit at the bottom. (Fills.) Here, here, master; how it puns and quibbles in the glass!
Mock. By the universe, now I have it!—the wit lies in the jingling. All wit consists most in jingling; hear how the glasses rhyme to one another.
Again:—