Acut. That you would leave us.
Boss. Leave you! zounds, sir! we scorne their companies, come they are still, doe not open to them, we have no Conies to catch.
[Exeunt[228] Getica and Boss, with the dog.
Acut. Away, keepe no distance, even both together,
for wit ye may be Coacht together.
What sleeke-browde Saint can see this Idiotisme,
The shape and workmanship of omnipotency
To be so blinde with drugs of beastlinesse,
That will not bend the browe and bite the lippe,
Trouble his quiet soule with venome spleene
And feare least the all over-seeer
Can without vengeance see these ignomies?
Grac. Why, therfore are they belooved like Sargeants and entertained like Beggers; Think'st thou but any honorable Gate, But will be shut against these Butterflies?
Acut. Oh Graccus! thou beguil'st opinion:
The Gates of great men stand more wide
To entertaine a foole then Cresus armes
To hug the Golden God; and faster bard
Against necessitie then Dives entrance
At Olympus gate.
Enter Servulus,[229] Scillicet, Philautus and boy.
Servu.[230] Fa, la, sol, lasol; Boy, a Glasse.
Boy. Tis but one and all, sir.
Acut. Angels protect us, what have we heare?