Warn. I am overheated, like a gun, with continual discharging my wit: 'Slife, sir, I have rarified my brains for you, 'till they are evaporated; but come, sir, do something for yourself like a man: I have engaged you shall give to your mistress a serenade in your proper person: I'll borrow a lute for you.
Sir Mart. I'll warrant thee I'll do't, man.
Warn. You never learned: I do not think you know one stop.
Sir Mart. 'Tis no matter for that, sir; I'll play as fast as I can, and never stop at all.
Warn. Go to, you are an invincible fool, I see. Get up into your window, and set two candles by you; take my landlord's lute in your hand, and fumble on it, and make grimaces with your mouth, as if you sung; in the mean time, I'll play in the next room in the dark, and consequently your mistress, who will come to her balcony over against you, will think it to be you; and at the end of every tune, I'll ring the bell that hangs between your chamber and mine, that you may know when to have done.
Sir Mart. Why, this is fair play now, to tell a man beforehand what he must do; gramercy, i'faith, boy, now if I fail thee——
Warn. About your business, then, your mistress and her maid appear already: I'll give you the sign with the bell when I am prepared, for my lute is at hand in the barber's shop.
[Exeunt.
Enter Mrs Millisent, and Rose, with a candle by
them, above.
Rose. We shall have rare music.
Mill. I wish it prove so; for I suspect the knight can neither play nor sing.