Grac. Do you grumble? you were ever
A brainless ass; but if this hold, I'll teach you
To come aloft and do tricks like an ape.
Your morning's lesson: if you miss——
Asot. O no, sir.
Grac. What for the Carthaginians? [Asotus makes moppes[116].] A good beast.
What for ourself, your lord[117]? [Dances.] Exceeding well.
There's your reward. [Gives him an apple.]—Not kiss your paw! So, so, so.
Zant. Was ever lady, the first day of her honour,
So waited on by a wrinkled crone? She looks now,
Without her painting, curling, and perfumes,
Like the last day of January. Further off!
So—stand there like an image; if you stir,
Till, with a quarter of a look, I call you,
You know what follows.
Coris. O, what am I fallen to!
But 'tis a punishment for my cruel pride,
Justly return'd upon me.
Grac. How dost thou like
Thy ladyship, Zanthia?
Zant. Very well; and bear it
With as much state as your lordship.
Grac. Give me thy hand:
Let us, like conquering Romans, walk in triumph[118],
Our captives following; then mount our tribunals,
And make the slaves our footstools.
Zant. Fine, by Jove!
Are your hands clean, minion?