Evad. Be thyself again.
Nur. Madam, your brother.
Evad. Fie! you have done it ill; our brother, say you?
Pray you, take it home and mend it.
Gio. Madam, it shall be done; I take my leave.
Love, I am made thy envy; I am he
This vot'ress prays unto, as unto thee:
Tailors are more than men; and here's the odds:
They make fine ladies: ladies make them gods:
And so they are not men, but far above them.
This makes the tailors proud; then ladies love them.
[Exit.
Antonio meets him.
Ant. What's he that pass'd?
Evad. My tailor.
Ant. There's something in his face I (sure) should know.
But, sister, to your beads; pray for distress'd Seville;
Whilst I mount some watchtower,
To o'erlook our enemies: religion's laws
Command me fight for my lov'd country's cause.
[Exit.