ACT II., SCENE I.
Trincalo, Armellina.
Trin. He that saith I am not in love, he lies de cap-a-pie; for I am idle, choicely neat in my clothes, valiant, and extreme witty. My meditations are loaded with metaphors, songs, and sonnets; not a cur shakes his tail but I sigh out a passion:[272] thus do I to my mistress; but, alas! I kiss the dog, and she kicks me. I never see a young wanton filly, but say I, there goes Armellina; nor a lusty strong ass, but I remember myself, and sit down to consider what a goodly race of mules would inherit, if she were willing: only I want utterance—and that's a main mark of love too.
Arm. Trincalo, Trincalo!
Trin. O, 'tis Armellina! Now, if she have the wit to begin, as I mean she should, then will I confound her with compliments drawn from the plays I see at the Fortune and Red Bull,[273] where I learn all the words I speak and understand not.
Arm. Trincalo, what price bears wheat and saffron, that your band's so stiff and yellow?[274]— not a word? Why, Trincalo, what business in town? how do all at Totnam? grown mute? What do you bring from the country?
Trin. There 'tis. Now are my floodgates drawn, and I'll surround her. [Aside.] What have I brought? sweet bit of beauty, a hundred thousand salutations o' th' elder-house to your most illustrious honour and worship.
Arm. To me these titles! Is your basket full of nothing else?
Trin. Full of the fruits of love, most resplendent lady: a present to your worthiness from your worship's poor vassal Trincalo.
Arm. My life on't, he scrap'd these compliments from his cart the last load he carried for the progress.[275] What ha' you read, that makes you grow so eloquent?