ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.—A Chamber in Hippolito’s House.
Enter a Servant.
Ser. So, this is Monday morning, and now must I to my huswifery.—[Sets out a table, on which he places a skull, a picture of Infelice, a book, and a taper.]—Would I had been created a shoemaker, for all the gentle-craft are gentlemen every Monday by their copy, and scorn then to work one true stitch. My master means sure to turn me into a student, for here’s my book, here my desk, here my light, this my close chamber, and here my punk: so that this dull drowzy first day of the week, makes me half a priest, half a chandler, half a painter, half a sexton, ay, and half a bawd; for all this day my office is to do nothing but keep the door. To prove it, look you, this good face and yonder gentleman, so soon as ever my back is turned, will be naught together.
Enter Hippolito.
Hip. Are all the windows shut?