Don. O, the egregiousness of folly! Ha’ you not heard of Don Zuccone? 280
Nym. What of him, good fool?
Don. He is separated.
Nym. Divorced?
Don. That salt,—that criticism,—that very all epigram of a woman,—that analysis,—that compendium of wittiness!
Nym. Now, Jesu, what words the fool has!
Don. We ha’ still such words, but I will not unshale the jest before it be ripe, and therefore, kissing your worship’s fingers, in most sweet terms, without any sense, and with most fair looks, without any good meaning, I most courtlike take my leave, basilus[246] manus de vostro signioria. 293
Herod. Stay, fool, we’ll follow thee: for, ’fore Heaven, we must prepare ourselves for this session.
[Exeunt.
Enter Zuccone, pursued by Zoya, on her knees attended by Ladies.