'Tis my belief; but her beauty blinds him with its beams, and drives his exiled reason into darkness.
Middleton.
Here comes one that could enlighten his perception, methinks.
Heywood.
Who's he? Jack-o'-night, the tavern pander and swashbuckler.
Enter Jacconot.
Jacconot.
Save ye, my masters; lusty thoughts go with ye, and a jovial full cup wait on your steps: so shall your blood rise, and honest women pledge ye in their dreams!
Middleton.
Your weighty-pursed knowledge of women, balanced against your squinting knowledge of honesty, Master Jack-o'-night, would come down to earth, methinks, as rapid as a fall from a gallows-tree.