Now we are alone, if you will go thither, I
am for you.
CLER: When were you there?
DAUP: Last night: and such a Decameron of sport fallen out! Boccace
never thought of the like. Daw does nothing but court her; and the
wrong way. He would lie with her, and praises her modesty; desires
that she would talk and be free, and commends her silence in
verses: which he reads, and swears are the best that ever man
made. Then rails at his fortunes, stamps, and mutines, why he is
not made a counsellor, and call'd to affairs of state.
CLER: I prithee let's go. I would fain partake this. Some water,
boy.
[EXIT PAGE.]
DAUP: We are invited to dinner together, he and I, by one that came
thither to him, sir La-Foole.
CLER: O, that's a precious mannikin.
DAUP: Do you know him?
CLER: Ay, and he will know you too, if e'er he saw you but once,
though you should meet him at church in the midst of prayers. He is
one of the braveries, though he be none of the wits. He will salute
a judge upon the bench, and a bishop in the pulpit, a lawyer when
he is pleading at the bar, and a lady when she is dancing in a
masque, and put her out. He does give plays, and suppers, and
invites his guests to them, aloud, out of his window, as they
ride by in coaches.
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