[Exeunt Simplicius and Holofernes.
Enter Jacomo.
Alb. Francisco Soranza, and perfumer, and musk-cat, and gutter-master, hay, hay, hay!—go, go, go!—f-f-f-fut!—I’ll to the Duke; and I’ll so ti-ti-ti-tickle them!
Jaco. Precious! what means he to go out so soon,
Before the dusk of twilight might deceive
The doubtful priers? What, holla!
Alb. Whop! what devil now?
Jaco. I’ll feign I know him not.—
What business ’fore those doors?
Alb. What’s that to thee?
Jaco. You come to wrong my friend Sir Laverdure. 240
Confess, or——
Alb. My sword, boy!—s-s-s-s-soul, my sword!
Jaco. O, my dear rogue, thou art a rare dissembler!