'I don't defend her, I say. I'm worn and cast aside too.'
'Poor fashion! You'll grace your mistress' tire-woman next; and after her a kitchen-maid; and last some draggled scarecrow of the streets. O, for shame, for shame!'
'Go on. Compare me to Tassino next.'
'Indeed, I see no difference.'
'A low-born Ferrarese! A greasy upstart! Was carver to the Duke, no better; and oiled his fingers in the dish, and sleeked his hair!'
'Well, he was made first fashion. The Duchess sets them.'
'Now, by Saint Ambrose! First fashion! this veal-faced scullion, this fat turnspit promoted to a lap-dog! His fashion was to nurse lusty babies in his eyes!'
'What nursed thou in thine?'
'Go to! I'm a numskull, that I know; but to see no more in me!'
'I speak not for myself.'