Otr. Peace:
She is either a damn'd divel, or an Angel,
No noise (upon your life Dame) but all silence.
Enter King, Lords, Vertigo, Lisauro, Terso.
Otr. Your Majesty heaps too much honor on me,
With such delight to view each several corner
Of a rude pile: there's no proportion in't, Sir.
Phil. Me-thinks 'tis handsome, and the rooms along
Are neat, and well contriv'd: the Gallery
Stands pleasantly and sweet: what rooms are these?
Otr. They are sluttish ones.
Phil. Nay, I must see.
Otr. Pray ye do Sir,
They are lodging-chambers over a homely garden.
Phil. Fit still, and handsome; very well: and those?
Otr. Those lead to the other side o'th' house, and't like ye.
Phil. Let me see those.