Bal. What instrument playd she upon?
Cor. A wind instrument, she did nothing but sigh.
Bal. Sol, Ra, me, Fa, Mi.
Cor. My wit has alwayes had a singing head; I have found out her Note, Captaine.
Bal. The tune? come.
Cor. Sol, my soule; re, is all rent and torne like a raggamuffin; me, mend it, good Captaine; fa, fa,—whats fa, Captaine?
Bal. Fa? why, farewell and be hang'd.
Cor. Mi, Captaine, with all my heart. Have I tickled my Ladies Fiddle well?
Bal. Oh, but your sticke wants Rozen to make the string sound clearely. No, this double Virginall being cunningly touch'd, another manner of Jacke[209] leaps up then is now in mine eye. Sol, Re, me, fa, mi—I have it now; Solus Rex me facit miseram. Alas, poore Lady! tell her no Pothecary in Spaine has any of that Assa Fetida she writes for.
Cor. Assa Fetida? what's that?