Foro. You are too malapert, i’faith you are.
Your honour might do well to——
Alb. Peace, parasite; thou bur, that only sticks
Unto the nap of greatness.
Pier. Away with that same yelping cur—away!
Alb. I—I am gone; but mark, Piero, this.
There is a thing call’d scourging Nemesis.[304]
[Exit Alberto.
Bal. God’s neaks, he has wrong, that he has: and s’fut, and I were as he, I would bear no coals.[305] Law, I, I begin to swell—puff. 251
Pier. How now, fool, fop, fool!
Bal.[306] Fool, fop, fool! Marry muffe![307] I pray you, how many fools have you seen go in a suit of satin? I hope, yet, I do not look a fool i’faith! a fool! God’s bores, I scorn’t with my heel. ’S neaks, and I were worth but three hundred pound a year more, I could swear richly; nay, but as poor as I am, I will swear the fellow hath wrong.
Pier. Young Galeatzo! Ay, a proper man; 260
Florence, a goodly city: it shall be so,
I’ll marry her to him instantly.
Then Genoa mine, by my Maria’s match,
Which I’ll solemnise ere next setting sun:
Thus Venice, Florence, Genoa, strongly leagued.
Excellent, excellent! I’ll conquer Rome,
Pop out the light of bright religion;
And then, helter skelter, all cock-sure.
Bal. Go to, ’tis just, the man hath wrong: go to.