Qua. Nay, they must play; you go along with us.
Ped. Ludendi venia est petita et concessa.
All. Gratias.
Sim. Pippo’s my page. How like you him? Ha! has he not a good face, ha?
Lav. Exceedingly amiable. Come away;
I long to see my love, my Celia.
Sim. Carry my rapier; hold up so; good child: stay, gallants. Umph! a sweet face.
[Exeunt[462] all but Lampatho and Quadratus.
Lam. I relish not this mirth; my spirit is untwist;
My heart is ravell’d out in discontents. 121
I am deep-thoughtful, and I shoot my soul
Through all creation of omnipotence.
Qua. What, art melancholy, Lamp? I’ll feed thy humour:
I’ll give thee reason strait to hang thyself.
Mark’t, mark’t: in Heaven’s handiwork there’s naught—
Believe it.
Lam. In Heaven’s handiwork there’s naught,
None more vile, accursed, reprobate to bliss,
Than man; and[463] ’mong men a scholar most. 130
Things only fleshly sensitive, an ox or horse,
They live and eat, and sleep, and drink, and die,
And are not touched with recollections
Of things o’er-past, or stagger’d infant doubts
Of things succeeding; but leave the manly beasts,
And give but pence apiece to have a sight
Of beastly man now——