Sir Sig. Ay, but I shou’d be loth to be in any man’s Clothes, were he never so high a German Prince—except I knew his name though.
Tick. Sir, I hold his name unnecessary to be remembred, so long as ’.was a princely Penniworth.—Barberacho, get you gone, and send the Masters. [Ex. Petro.
Sir Sig. Why, how now, Governour? how now, Signior Tickletext! prithee how camest thou so transmogrified, ha? why, thou look’st like any new-fledg’d Cupid.
Tick. Do I? away, you flatter; do I?
Sir Sig. As I hope to breathe, your Face shines through your pouder’d
Hairs, like you know what on a Barn-door in a frosty morning.
Tick. What a filthy comparison there for a man of my Coat?
Sir Sig. What, angry—Corpo di me, I meant no harm,—Come, shall’s to a Bonaroba, where thou shalt part with thy Pusilage, and that of thy Beard together?
Tick. How mean you, Sir, a Curtezan, and a Romish Curtezan?
Sir Sig. Now my Tutor’s up, ha, ha, ha—and ever is when one names a
Whore; be pacify’d, Man, be pacify’d, I know thou hat’st ‘em worse than
Beads or Holy-water.
Tick. Away, you are such another Knight—but leave this naughty discourse, and prepare for your Fencing and Civility-Masters, who are coming.