Jaco. Say quick.
Qua. To bed.
Jaco. I will invoke the Triple Hecate,
Make charms as potent as the breath of fate, 90
But I’ll confound the match!
Qua. Nay, then, good day;
And you be conjuring once, I’ll slink away.
[Exit Quadratus.
Jaco. Boy, could not Orpheus make the stones to dance?
Phi. Yes, sir.
Jaco. By’r Lady, a sweet touch. Did he not bring Eurydice out of hell with his lute?
Phi. So they say, sir.
Jaco. And thou canst bring Celia’s head out of the window with thy lute. Well, hazard thy breath. Look, sir, here’s a ditty. 100
’Tis foully writ, slight wit, cross’d here and there,
But where thou find’st a blot, there fall a tear.