Lyz. Why, why?
Mel. Why, he is not a plain fool, nor fair, nor fat, nor rich, rich fool. But he is a knight; his honour will give
the passado in the presence to-morrow night; I hope he will deserve. All I can say is as, as the common fiddlers will say[514] in their “God send you well to do.”
Lyz. How think’st thou of the amorous Jacomo?
Mel. Jacomo? why, on my bare troth——
Cel. Why bare troth? 20
Mel. Because my troth is like his chin, t’hath no hair on’t. God’s me! his face looks like the head of a tabour; but trust me he hath a good wit.
Lyz. Who told you so?
Mel. One that knows; one that can tell.
Cel. Who’s that?