Geo. Ay, and the purest she that ever you fingered since you were a gentleman: look how even she is, look how clean she is, ha! as even as the brow of Cynthia, and as clean as your sons and heirs when they ha’ spent all.
Cas. Pooh, thou talkest—pox on’t, ’tis rough.
Geo. How? is she rough? but if you bid pox on’t, sir, ’twill take away the roughness presently.
Flu. Ha, signor; has he fitted your French curse?
Geo. Look you, gentlemen, here’s another, compare them I pray, compara Virgilium cum Homero, compare virgins with harlots.
Cas. Pooh, I ha’ seen better, and as you term them, evener and cleaner.
Geo. You may see further for your mind, but trust me, you shall not find better for your body.
Enter Candido.
Cas. O here he comes, let’s make as though we pass. Come, come, we’ll try in some other shop.