Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Enter Maria.
Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o' my neck?
Sir And. Or o' mine either?
Sir To. Shall I become thy bond-slave?
Sir And. Or I either?
Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream, that when the image of it leaves him, he must run mad.
Mar. Nay, but say true; does it work upon him?
Sir To. Like aqua-vitæ with a midwife.
Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport, mark his first approach before my lady: he will come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour she abhors; and cross-gartered, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you will see it, follow me.