Gio. It is no news to me, I have been us'd to't.
O. Tai. Now for discovery; the king as yet
Is ignorant of your names, and shall be
Till your merits beg your pardon.
My lord, you are for Machiavel; take this gown.
Ant. Pray for success.
[Exit Antonio.
O. Tai. You, in this French disguise, for proud Philippa;
This is her garment. I hear the king: begone:
The Frenchman's folly sit upon your tongue.
[Exeunt.
Enter the King, Evadne, and Aurelia.
King. Believe me, tailor, you've outstripp'd the court,
For such perfections live not everywhere;
Nature was vex'd (as she's a very shrew),
She made all others in an angry mood;
These only she can boast for masterpieces:
The rest want something or in mind or form,
These are precisely made: a critic jury
Of cavilling arts cannot condemn a scruple.
Aur. But that your entrance in this formal speech
Betray'd you are a courtier, I had been angry
At your rank flattery.
King. Can you say so?