Gal. Good faith, I’ll accept of the coxcomb, so you will not refuse the bable.[179]
Mel. Nay, good sweet, keep them both; I am enamoured of neither.
Gal. Go to, I must take you down for this. Lend me your ear. 200
Ros. A glow-worm? the word,—Splendescit tantùm tenebris.
Mat. O, lady, the glow-worm figurates my valour, which shineth brightest in most dark, dismal, and horrid achievements.
Ros. Or rather, your glow-worm represents your wit, which only seems to have fire in it, though indeed ’tis but an ignis fatuus, and shines only in the dark dead night of fools’ admiration.
Mat. Lady, my wit hath spurs, if it were dispos’d to ride you. 211
Ros. Faith, sir, your wit’s spurs have but walking rowels; dull, blunt, they will not draw blood: the gentlemen-ushers may admit them the presence, for any wrong they can do to ladies.
Bal. Truly, I have strained a note above ela[180] for a device: look you, ’tis a fair-ruled singing book; the word, Perfect, if it were prick’d.
Fla. Though you are mask’d, I can guess who you are by your wit. You are not the exquisite Balurdo, the most rarely-shaped Balurdo. 221