Sir And.

Nor I, neither.

Fab.

Here comes my noble gull-catcher.

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 fruit 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-garter'd, a fashion she detests; and he will smile upon her, which will now be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted to melancholy, as she is, that it cannot but turn him into a notable contempt: if you will see it, follow me.

Sir To.

To the gates of Tartar; thou most excellent devil of wit!

Sir And.

I'll make one, too.

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