LIN. Come, let us away, and leave it to the chance.
MEN. Nay, rather let me stand close hereabouts,
And see the event.
LIN. Do so, and if they doubt,
How it came there, feign them some pretty fable,
How that some god—
MEN. Tut, tut, tut, let me alone:
I that have feign'd so many hundred gods,
Can easily forge some fable for the turn:
Whist, madam; away, away: you fright the fowl;
Tactus comes hard by, look you.
LIN. Is't he for certain?
MEN. Yes, yes, yes, 'tis he.
LIN. 'Tis he indeed.
[Exit LINGUA.
SCAENA QUINTA.
TACTUS, in a dark-coloured satin mantle over a pair of silk bases, a garland of bays, mixed with white and red roses, upon a black grogram, a falchion, wrought sleeves, buskins, &c.