our only fool, lady: I do yield
to this honourable monsieur in all civil and humane courtesy."

[A FLOURISH.]

MER. Buz!

ANA. Admirable. Give him the prize, give him the prize: that
mouth again was most courtly hit, and rare.

AMO. I knew I should pass upon him with the bitter bob.

HED. O, but the reverse was singular.

PHA. It was most subtile, Amorphus.

ASO. If I had done't, it should have been better.

MER. How heartily they applaud this, Crites!

CRI. You suffer them too long.

MER. I'll take off their edge instantly.

ANA. Name the prize, at the "Solemn Address."

PHI. Two lips wagging.

CRI. And never a wise word, I take it.

ANA. Give to Amorphus. And, upon him again; let him not draw free
breath.

AMO. Thanks, fair deliverer, and my honourable judges. Madam
Phantaste, you are our worthy object at this next weapon.

PHA. Most covetingly ready, Amorphus.

[SHE TAKES THE STATE INSTEAD OF PHILAUTIA.]

HED. Your monsieur is crest-fallen.

ANA. So are most of them once a year.

AMO. You will see, I shall now give him the gentle Dor presently,
he forgetting to shift the colours, which are now changed with
alteration of the mistress. At your last weapon, sir. "The
Perfect Close." Set forward. [A CHARGE.] Intend your approach,
monsieur.

MER. 'Tis yours, signior.

AMO. With your example, sir.

MER. Not I, sir.

AMO. It is your right.

MER. By no possible means.

AMO. You have the way.

MER. As I am noble--

AMO. As I am virtuous--

MER. Pardon me, sir.

AMO. I will die first.

MER. You are a tyrant in courtesy.

AMO. He is removed.--[STAYS MERCURY ON HIS MOVING.]--Judges,
bear witness.

MER. What of that, sir?

AMO. You are removed, sir.

MER. Well.

AMO. I challenge you; you have received the Dor. Give me the
prize.

MER. Soft, sir. How, the Dor?

AMO. The common mistress, you see, is changed.

MER. Right, sir.

AMO. And you have still in your hat the former colours.

MER. You lie, sir, I have none: I have pulled them out. I meant
to play discoloured. [A FLOURISH.]

CRI. The Dor, the Dor, the Dor, the Dor, the Dor, the palpable
Dor!

ANA. Heart of my blood, Amorphus, what have you done? stuck a
disgrace upon us all, and at your last weapon