Page. Keep you open house here?
No groom to attend a gentleman! O, I spy one.
Syl. He means not me, I am sure.
Page. You, sirrah sheep's-head,
With a face cut on a cat-stick[148], do you hear?
You, yeoman fewterer[149], conduct me to
The lady of the mansion, or my poniard
Shall disembogue thy soul.
Syl. O terrible! disembogue!
I talk'd of Hercules, and here is one
Bound up in decimo sexto.
Page. Answer, wretch.
Syl. Pray you, little gentleman, be not so furious:
The lady keeps her chamber.
Page. And we present,
Sent on an embassy to her! but here is
Her gentlewoman. Sirrah! hold my cloak,
While I take a leap at her lips: do it, and neatly;
Or, having first tripp'd up thy heels, I'll make
Thy back my footstool. [Kisses Clarinda.
Syl. Tamberlane in little!
Am I turn'd Turk[150]! What an office am I put to!
Clar. My lady, gentle youth, is indisposed.
Page. Though she were dead and buried, only tell her,
The great man in the court, the brave Fulgentio,
Descends to visit her, and it will raise her
Out of the grave for joy.