Jac. Ay, but heaven, that sees all things——
Wild. Heaven, that sees all things, will say nothing: That is all eyes, and no tongue; Et la lune, et les estoiles,—you know the song.
Jac. A poor slave, as I am——
Wild. It has been always my humour to love downward. I love to stoop to my prey, and to have it in my power to souse at, when I please. When a man comes to a great lady, he is fain to approach her with fear and reverence; methinks there's something of godliness in't.
Jac. Yet I cannot believe, but the meanness of my habit must needs scandalize you.
Wild. I tell thee, my friend, and so forth, that I exceedingly honour coarse linen; 'tis as proper sometimes in an under garment, as a coarse towel is to rub and scrub me.
Jac. Now I am altogether of the other side; I can love no where but above me: Methinks the rattling of a coach and six sounds more eloquently than the best harangue a wit could make me.
Wild. Do you make no more esteem of a wit then?
Jac. His commendations serve only to make others have a mind to me; he does but say grace to me like a chaplain, and, like him, is the last that shall fall on. He ought to get no more by it, than a poor silk-weaver does by the ribband which he works, to make a gallant fine.
Wild. Then what is a gentleman to hope from you?