COMMUNIS SENSUS, a grave man, in a black velvet cassock like a councillor, speaks coming out of the door.
COMMUNIS SENSUS, PHANTASTES.
COM. SEN. I cannot stay, I tell you. 'Tis more than time I were at court. I know my sovereign Psyche hath expected me this hour.
PHA. In good time; yonder comes Common Sense. I imagine it should be he by his voice.
COM. SEN. Crave my counsel! Tell me what manner of man he is? Can he entertain a man in his house? Can he hold his velvet cap in one hand, and vail[223] his bonnet with the other? Knows he how to become a scarlet gown? Hath he a pair of fresh posts at his door?[224]
PHA. He's about some hasty state matters. He talks of posts, methinks.
COM. SEN. Can he part a couple of dogs brawling in the street? Why, then, choose him mayor. Upon my credit, he'll prove a wise officer.
PHA. Save you, my lord; I have attended your leisure this hour.
COM. SEN. Fie upon't! What a toil have I had to choose them a mayor yonder? There's a fusty currier will have this man; there's a chandler wipes his nose on his sleeve, and swears it shall not be so; there's a mustard-maker looks as keen as vinegar will have another. O, this many-headed multitude, 'tis a hard matter to please them!
PHA. Especially where the multitude is so well-headed. But I pray you, where's Master Memory? Hath he forgotten himself, that he is not here?