Clown. Ay, that shows her light from head to heel, sir; and who have heavier heads than those whose wives have light heels? that feather confounds her.
Lod. I shall so laugh to hear the comical history of the great Count Lorenzo's horns: but as I have such a wife now, what a villain did I entertain to teach her music? H' has done her no good since he came, that I saw.
Clown. Hang him, h' has made her a little perfect in prick-song, that's all; and it may be, she had skill in that before you married her too.
Lod. She could sing at the first sight, by this hand, Pambo.
But hark! I hear somebody.
Enter Francisco.
Clown. 'Tis he, sure; h' has a dreaming whoremaster's pace. Pray, let me practise my lady's part, and counterfeit for her.
Lod. Can'st thou imitate to th' life?
Clown. Can I? O wicked Francis!
Lod. Admirable! Thou shalt do't.
Clown. Pray, be you ready with your rapier to spit him then, and I'll watch him a good turn, I warrant ye.