Scæna Quarta.
Enter Claudio like a Merchant.
Clau. Now, in this habit may I safely see
How my incensed friend carries my murther,
Who little I imagin'd had been wrought
To such a height of rage, and much I grieve now
Mine own blind passion had so master'd me,
I could not see his love, for sure he loves her,
And on a nobler ground than I pretended.
Enter Penurio.
It must be so, it is so; what Penurio,
My shotten friend, what wind blew you?
Pen. Faith 'tis true,
Any strong wind will blow me like a Feather,
I am all Air, nothing of earth within me,
Nor have not had this month, but that good Dinner
Your Worship gave me yesterday, that staies by me,
And gives me ballast, else the Sun would draw me.
Cla. But does my Mistriss speak still of me?
Pen. Yes, Sir,
And in her sleep, that makes my Master mad too,
And turn and fart for anger.
Cla. Art sure she saw me?
Pen. She saw ye at a window.