Fool. They were meant to be so, does thy Master deserve better kindred?
Pod. There's an old Lawyer,
Trim'd up like a Gally Foist, what would he do with her?
Fool. As Usurers do with their Gold, he would look on her,
And read her over once a day, like a hard report,
Feed his dull eye, and keep his fingers itching;
For any thing else, she may appeal to a Parliament,
Sub Pœna's and Post Kaes have spoil'd his Codpiece;
There's a Physician too, older than he,
And Gallen Gallinacius, but he has lost his spurs,
He would be nibling too.
Pod. I marked the man, if he be a man.
Fool. H'as much ado to be so,
Searcloths and Sirrups glew him close together,
He would fall a pieces else; mending of she Patients,
And then trying whether they be right or no
In his own person, there's the honest care on't,
Has mollifi'd the man; if he do marry her,
And come but to warm him well at Cupids Bonfire,
He will bulge so subtilly and suddenly,
You may snatch him up by parcels, like a Sea Rack:
Will your Worship go, and look upon the rest, Sir?
And hear what they can say for themselves.
Pod. I'le follow thee. [Exeunt.
Enter Camillo, Menallo, Cleanthes, and Castruchio.
Cam. You tell us wonders.
Cast. But I tell you truths, they are both well.
Men. Why are not we in Arms then?
And all the Island given to know—