Enter Ladies and Gentlemen.

And sow your grounds, you are not for this tillage. 
Madams, the best way is the upper lodgings,
There you may see at ease.

Ladies.  We thank you, Sir. [Ex. Ladies, Gent.

1 Ush. Would you have all these slighted? who should report then,
The Embassadors were handsome men? his beard
A neat one? the fire of his eyes quicker than lightning,
And when it breaks, as blasting? his legs, though little ones,
Yet movers of a mass of understanding? 
Who shall commend their Cloaths? who shall take notice
Of the most wise behaviour of their Feathers? 
Ye live a raw man here.

2 Ush. I think I do so.

Enter 2 citizens, and Wives.

1 Ush. Why, whither would ye all press?

1 Cit. Good Master Usher.

2 Cit. My wife, and some few of my honest neighbours, here.

1 Ush. Prethee begone thou and thy honest Neighbours, Thou lookst like an Ass, why, whither would you fish face?

2 Cit. If I might have
But the honour to see you at my poor house, Sir,
A Capon bridled and sadled, I’le assure your worship,
A shoulder of Mutton and a pottle of Wine, Sir,
I know your Brother, he was like ye,
And shot the best at Buts—­

1 Ush. A ——­ upon thee.

2 Cit. Some Musick I’le assure you too, My toy, Sir, can play o’th’ Virginals.

1 Ush. Prethee good toy, Take away thy shoulder of Mutton, it is flie-blown, And shoulder take thy flap along, here’s no place for ye; Nay then you had best be knock’d. [Ex.  Cit.

Enter Celia.

Cel. I wou’d fain see him,
The glory of this place makes me remember,
But dye those thoughts, dye all but my desires,
Even those to death are sick too; he’s not here,
Nor how my eyes may guide me—­

1 Ush. What’s your business?  Who keeps the outward door there? here’s fine shuffling, You wastcoateer you must go back.

Cel. There is not,
There cannot be, six days and never see me? 
There must not be desire; Sir, do you think
That if you had a Mistris—­

1 Ush. Death, she is mad.

Cel.  And were yourself an honest man? it cannot—­

1 Ush. What a Devil hast thou to do with me or my honesty?  Will you be jogging, good nimble tongue, My fellow door-keeper.

2 Ush. Prethee let her alone,

1 Ush. The King is coming, And shall we have an agent from the Suburbs Come to crave audience too?

Cel. Before I thought ye
To have a little breeding, some tang of Gentry;
But now I take ye plainly,
Without the help of any perspective,
For that ye cannot alter.

1 Ush. What’s that?

Cel. An Ass, Sir, you bray as like one,
And by my troth, me thinks as ye stand now,
Considering who to kick next, you appear to me
Just with that kind of gravity, and wisdom;
Your place may bear the name of Gentleman,
But if ever any of that butter stick to your bread—­