Sil.

Servant,—

Val.

Mistress?

Speed.

Master, Sir Thurio frowns on you.

Val.

Ay, boy, it's for love.

Speed.

Not of you.

Val.

Of my mistress then.

Speed.

'Twere good, you knockt him.

Sil.

Servant, you are sad.

Val.

Indeed, madam, I seem so.

Thu.

Seem you that you are not?

Val.

Haply, I do.

Thu.

So do counterfeits.

Val.

So do you.

Thu.

What seem I, that I am not?

Val.

Wise.

Thu.

What instance of the contrary?

Val.

Your folly.

Thu.

And how quote you my folly?

Val.

I quote it in your jerkin.

Thu.

My jerkin is a doublet.

Val.

Well, then, I'll double your folly.

Thu.

How?

Sil.

What, angry, Sir Thurio? do you change colour?

Val.

Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of Cameleon.

Thu.

That hath more mind to feed on your blood, than live in your air.

Val.

You have said, Sir.

Thu.

Ay, Sir, and done too, for this time.

Val.

I know it well, Sir; you always end, ere you begin.

Sil.

A fine volly of words, gentlemen, and quickly shot off.

Val.

'Tis indeed, madam; we thank the giver.

Sil.

Who is that, servant?

Val.

Yourself, sweet lady, for you gave the fire: Sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's looks, and spends, what he borrows, kindly in your company.

Thu.

Sir, if you spend word for word with me, I shall make your wit bankrupt.

Val.

I know it well, Sir; you have an exchequer of words, and, I think, no other treasure to give your followers: for it appears by their bare liveries, that they live by your bare words.

Sil.

No more, gentlemen, no more: Here comes my father.