Dil. ’Twill not be so put off, delicate, delicious, spark-eyed, sleek-skinn’d, slender-waisted, clean-legg’d, rarely-shaped—
Fla. Who? I’ll be at all your service another season: my faith, there’s reason in all things.
Dil. Would I were reason then, that I might be in all things.
Cat. The breve and the semiquaver is, we must have the descant you made upon our names, ere you depart.
Fla. Faith, the song will seem to come off hardly. 51
Cat. Troth not a wit, if you seem to come off quickly.
Fla. Pert Catzo, knock[86] it lustily then.
[A song.
Enter Forobosco, with two torches: Castilio singing fantastically; Rossaline running a coranto[87] pace, and Balurdo; Feliche following, wondering at them all.
Foro. Make place, gentlemen; pages, hold torches; the prince approacheth the presence.