For I should meet the army out of town,
And if I fail, must hazard my renown.
Par. My mother, sir, sells ale by the town-walls;
And me her dear Parthenope she calls.
Bayes. Now that's the Parthenope I told you of.
Johns. Ay, ay, egad, you are very right.
Vols. Can vulgar vestments high-born beauty shroud?
Thou bring'st the morning pictur'd in a cloud.[30]
Bayes. The morning pictur'd in a cloud! ah, gadzookers, what a conceit is there!
Par. Give you good even, sir. [Exit.