Ant. This is his Lute: let him have it.
Pet. I grant you; but who strikes it?
Ant. An admirable voice too, hark ye.
Pet. Anthony,
Art sure we are at home?
Ant. Without all doubt, Peter.
Pet. Then this must be the Devil.
Ant. Let it be, [Sing again.
Good Devil sing again: O dainty Devil!
Peter believe it, a most delicate Devil,
The sweetest Devil—
Enter Frederick, and Don John.
Fred. If ye could leave peeping.