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--

_2 Ush._ You must be modester.

_Cel._ Let him use me nobler,
And wear good Cloaths to do good Offices;
They hang upon a fellow of his vertue,
As though they hung on Gibbets.

_2 Ush._ A perillous wench.

_1 Ush._ Thrust her into a corner, I'le no more on her.

_2 Ush._ You have enough, go pretty Maid, stand close,
And use that little tongue, with a little more temper.

_Cel._ I thank ye, Sir.

_2 Ush._ When the show's past,
I'le have ye into the Cellar, there we'll dine.
A very pretty wench, a witty Rogue,
And there we'll be as merry; can ye be merry?

_Cel._ O very merry.

_2 Ush._ Only our selves; this churlish fellow shall not know.

_Cel._ By no means.

_2 Ush._ And can you love a little?

_Cel._ Love exceedingly:
I have cause to love you, dear Sir.

_2 Ush._ Then I'le carry ye,
And shew you all the pictures, and the hangings,
The Lodgings, Gardens, and the walks: and then, sweet,
You shall tell me where you lye.

_Cel._ Yes marry will I.

_2 Ush._ And't shall go hard but I'le send ye a Venison Pasty,
And bring a bottle of wine along.

_1 Ush._ Make room there,

_2 Ush._ Room there afore; stand close, the train is coming.

_Enter King_ Antigonus, Timon, Charinthus, Menippus.

_Cel._ Have I yet left a beauty to catch fools?
Yet, yet, I see him not. O what a misery
Is love, expected long, deluded longer!

_Ant._ Conduct in the Embassadors.

_1 Ush._ Make room there.

_Ant._ They shall not wait long answer-- [_Flourish._

_Cle._ Yet he comes not.

_Enter_ 3 _Embassadors._

Why are eyes set on these, and multitudes
Follow to make these wonders? O good gods!
What would these look like if my love were here?
But I am fond, forgetful.

_Ant._ Now your grievance,
Speak short, and have as short dispatch.

_1 Emb._ Then thus, Sir:
In all our Royal Masters names, We tell you,
Ye have done injustice, broke the bonds of concord,
And from their equal shares, from _Alexander_
Parted, and so possess'd, not like a