The tailors, starchers, sempsters, butchers, poulterers,
mercers,—all, all, all,—now, now, now,—none think o’ me,—the f-f-f-French is te f-f-f-fine man, de p-p-p-pock man, de——
Slip. Peace, peace! stand conceal’d. Yonder, by all descriptions, is he would be husband of my mistress;—your wife! hah, meat, hah!
Alb. Uds so, so, so soul! that’s my velvet cloak! 100
Slip. O peace! observe him: ha!
Enter Laverdure and Bidet, talking; Quadratus, Lampatho, Simplicius, Pedant, and Holofernes Pippo.
Bid. ’Tis most true, sir. I heard all; I saw all; I tell all, and I hope you believe all. The sweet Francisco Soranza, the perfumer, is by your rival Jacomo, and your two brothers that must be, when you have married your wife that shall be—
Ped. With the grace of Heaven. 107
Bid. Disguised so like the drowned Albano, to cross your suit, that by my little honesty ’twas great consolation to me to observe them. “Passion of joy, of hope! O excellent!” cried Andrea. “Passingly!” cried Randolfo. “Unparallel’d!” lisps Jacomo. “Good, good, good!” says Andrea. “Now stut,” says Jacomo. “Now stut,” says Randolfo; whilst the ravish’d perfumer had like to have water’d the seams of his breeches for extreme pride of their applause.
Lav. Sest,[480] I’ll to Celia, and, maugre the nose of her