Oni. What fine tricks he shows
Each morning on his jennet, but to gain
A female vision from some half-op'd window:
And if a lady smile by accident,
Or but in scorn of him, yet he (kind soul)
Interprets it as prophecy to some
Near favour to ensue at night.
Oss. I wonder
What makes him thought a wit?
Oni. A copper wit,
Which fools let pass for current: so false coin,
Such very alchemy that, who vents him
For aught but parcel-ass, may be in danger.
Look on him, and in little there see drawn
The picture of the youth is so admired
Of the spruce sirs, whom ladies and their women
Call the fine gentleman.
Oss. What are those papers,
With such a sober brow he looks upon?
Oni. Nor platform[274] nor intelligence; but a prologue
He comes to whisper to one of the maids
I' th' privy chamber after supper.
Oss. I praise the courage of his folly yet,
Whom fear cannot make wiser.
San. My good lord,
Brave Oniate, saw you not the general?
Oni. He's upon entrance here. And how, my lord?
I saw your lordship turning over papers!
What's the discovery?
San. It may import
Decastro's knowledge. Never better language
Or neater wit: a paper of such verses,
Writ by th' exactest hand.
Oss. In time of business,
As serious as our safety, to intrude
The dreams of madmen!