Here lies the Sense that living[194] gull'd them all
With a false plague and feigned urinal.
SCAENA NONA.
AUDITUS, TACTUS.
AUD. Tactus, Tactus!
TAC. O Jupiter, 'tis Auditus, all's marred, I doubt: the sly knave hears so far; but yet I'll grope him. How now, Ears[195], what make you here, ha?
AUD. Nay, what make you here, I pray? What were you talking even now of an ass, and a crown, and an urinal, and a plague?
TAC. A plague on you! what, I?
AUD. O, what you!
TAC. O, I had well-nigh forgot; nothing; but I say—
AUD. What?