Free. Marry, salute my friend, clip his neck, and kiss him welcome.
A’ mine art, sir, you bin very velcome. 190
Free. Kiss her, man, with a more familiar affection, so. Come, what entertainment? go to your lute.
[Exit Franceschina.
And how dost approve my sometimes elected? She’s none of your ramping cannibals that devour man’s flesh, nor any of your Curtian gulfs that will never be satisfied until the best thing a man has be thrown into them. I loved her with my heart, until my soul showed me the imperfection of my body, and placed my affection on a lawful love, my modest Beatrice, which if this shortheels knew, there were no being for me with eyes before her face. But, faith, dost thou not somewhat excuse my sometimes incontinency, with her enforcive beauties? Speak. 203
Mal. Hah! she is a whore, is she not?
Free. Whore? fie, whore! you may call her a courtezan, a cockatrice,[26] or (as that worthy spirit of an eternal happiness said) a suppository. But whore! fie, ’tis not in fashion to call things by their right names. Is a great merchant a cuckold, you must say he is one of the livery. Is a great lord a fool, you must say he is weak.
Is a gallant pocky, you must say he has the court scab. Come, she’s your mistress or so. 212
Enter Franceschina, with her lute.
Come, siren, your voice.