Sir _Sig_. Why, 'twill be restor'd again, 'tis but to practise by.
_Pet_. Ay, Signior, the next thing you are to learn is to receive.
_Tick_. Most worthy Signior, I have so exhausted the _Cornucopia_ of your Favours, [_Flourishes_.]--and tasted so plenteously of the fulness of your bounteous Liberality, that to retaliate with this small Gem--is but to offer a Spark, where I have received a Beam of superabundant Sunshine.
[_Gives it_.
Sir _Sig_. Most rhetorically perform'd, as I hope to breathe; Tropes and Figures all over.
_Tick_. Oh Lord, Sir _Signal_.
_Pet_. Excellent--Now let's see if you can refuse as civilly as you gave, which is by an obstinate denial; stand both together--Illustrious Signiors, upon my Honour my little Merit has not intitled me to the Glory of so splendid an Offering; Trophies worthy to be laid only at your Magnanimous Feet.
Sir _Sig_. Ah, Signior, no, no.
_Pet_. Signior _Tickletext_.
[_He offers, they refuse going backward_.
_Tick_. Nay, _certo_, Signior.
_Pet_. With what confidence can I receive so rich a Present? Signior _Tickletext_, ah--Signior--
Sir _Sig_. I vow, Signior--I'm ashamed you shou'd offer it.
_Tick_. In verity, so am I. [_Still going back, he follows_.]
_Pet. Pardio! Baccus_, most incomparable.--
_Tick_. But when, Signior, are we to learn to receive again?--
_Pet_. Oh, Sir, that's always a Lesson of it self:--but now, Signiors, I'll teach you how to act a story.
Sir _Sig_. How, how, Signior, to act a story?
_Pet_. Ay, Sir, no matter for words or sense, so the Body perform its part well.
Sir _Sig_. How, tell a story without words! why, this were an excellent device for Mr. _Tickletext_, when he's to hold forth to the Congregation, and has lost his Sermon-Notes--why, this is wonderful.--
_Pet_. Oh, Sir, I have taught it Men born deaf [_Gets between 'em: Makes a sign of being fat; galloping about the Stage_.] and blind:--look ye, stand close together, and observe--closer yet:--a certain Eclejastico, Plump and Rich--Riding along the Road, meets a Paver strapiao,--un Pavaro strapiao, Paure strapiao:--strapiao--strapiao-- strapiao [_Puts himself into the Posture of a lean Beggar; his hands right down by his sides,--and picks both their Pockets_.] Elemosuna per un Paure strapiao, par a Moure de Dievos--at last he begs a Julio--Neinte [_makes the fat Bishop_.] the Paure strapiao begs a Mezo Julio-- [_lean_] Neinte [_fat_]--une bacio--[_lean_]--Neinte-- [_fat_]--at last he begs his Blessing--and see how willingly the Ecclesiastico gave his Benediction. [_Opening his Arms, hits them both in the face_.]--Scusa, scusa mea, Patronas-- [_Begs their pardon_.]
Sir _Sig_. Yes, very willingly, which by the way he had never done had it been worth a farthing.
_Tick_. Marry, I wou'd he had been a little sparing of that too at this time--[_sneezes_] a shame on't, it has stir'd this same _Cackamarda_ again most foully.
_Pet_. Your pardon, Signior;--but come, Sir _Signal_,--let's see how you will make this silent relation--Come, stand between us two--
Sir _Sig_. Nay, let me alone for a memory--come.
_Pet_. I think I have reveng'd my Backsword-beating.
[_Goes off_.]
Sir _Sig_. Un paureo strapado--plump and rich, no, no, the Ecclesiastico meet un paureo strapado--and begs a Julio.
_Tick_. Oh, no, Sir, the strapado begs the Julio.
Sir _Sig_. Ay, ay, and the Ecclesastico crys Niente--[_snaps his nail_.]
un meze Julio!--Niente--un Bacio, Niente: your Blessing then, Signior Ecclesastico.
[_Spreads out his Arms to give his blessing--and hits_ Tick.]
_Tick_. Adds me, you are all a little too liberal of this same Benediction.
Sir _Sig_. Hah--but where's Signior _Morigoroso?_ what, is he gone?--but now I think on't, 'tis a point of good manners to go without taking leave.
_Tick_. It may be so, but I wish I had my Ring again, I do not like the giving Lesson without the taking one; why this is picking a Man's pocket, _certo_.
Sir _Sig_. Not so, Governour, for then I had had a considerable loss: Look ye here,--how--how [_feeling in his Pocket_.] how--[_in another_]
how--gone? gone as I live, my Money, Governour; all the Gold _Barberacho_ receiv'd of my Merchant to day--all gone.--
_Tick_. Hah--and mine--all my stock, the Money which I thought to have made a present to the Gentlewoman, _Barberacho_ was to bring me to-- [_Aside_.]--Undone, undone--Villains, Cutpurses--Cheats, oh, run after him.
Sir _Sig_. A Pox of all silent stories; Rogue, Thief--undone.--
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. _The Corso_.
_Enter_ Julio _and his_ Page.
_Jul_. How, the Lady whom I followed from St. _Peter's_ Church, a Curtezan?
_Pag_. A Curtezan, my Lord, fair as the Morning, and as young.
_Jul_. I know she's fair and young; but is she to be had, Boy?
_Pag_. My Lord, she is--her Footman told me she was a Zittella.
_Jul_. How, a Zittella!--a Virgin, 'tis impossible.
_Pag_. I cannot swear it, Sir, but so he told me; he said she had a World of Lovers: Her name is _Silvianetta_, Sir, and her Lodgings--
_Jul_. I know't, are on the _Corso_; a Curtezan? and a Zittella too? a pretty contradiction; but I'll bate her the last, so I might enjoy her as the first: whate'er the price be, I'm resolv'd upon the adventure; and will this minute prepare my self. [_Going off, Enter_ Mor. and Octa.]-- hah, does the Light deceive me, or is that indeed my Uncle, in earnest conference with a Cavalier?--'tis he--I'll step aside till he's past, lest he hinders this Night's diversion.
[_Goes aside_.