m pervert Catullas's _Zonam solvit diu ligatum_
thus, thus--

_Which if I chance to cut, or else untie,
Thy little world I'll conquer presently_.

'Tis pretty, pretty, tell him 'twas extemporal.

HEU. Well, sir, but now for Master Inamorato's love-letter.

PHA. Some nettling stuff, i'faith; let him write thus: _Most
heart-commanding-faced gentlewoman, even as the stone in India, called
Basaliscus, hurts all that looks on it, and as the serpent in Arabia,
called Smaragdus, delighteth the sight, so does thy celestial
orb-assimilating eyes both please, and in pleasing wound my love-darted
heart_.

HEU. But what trick shall I invent for the conclusion?

PHA. Pish, anything, love will minister ink for the rest. He that [hath]
once begun well, hath half done; let him begin again, and there's all.

HEU. Master Gullio spoke for a new fashion; what for him?

PHA. A fashion for his suit! Let him button it down the sleeve with four
elbows, and so make it the pure hieroglyphic of a fool.

HEU. Nay, then let me request one thing of you.

PHA. What's that, boy? By this fair hand, thou shalt have it.

HEU. Mistress Superbia, a gentlewoman of my acquaintance, wished me to
devise her a new set for her ruff and an odd tire. I pray, sir, help me
out with it.

PHA. Ah, boy, in my conceit 'tis a hard matter to perform. These women
have well-nigh tired me with devising tires for them, and set me at a
nonplus for new sets. Their heads are so light, and their eyes so coy,
that I know not how to please them.

HEU. I pray, sir, she hath a bad face, and fain would have suitors.
Fantastical and odd apparel would perchance draw somebody to look on
her.

PHA. If her face be nought, in my opinion, the more view it the worse.
Bid her wear the multitude of her deformities under a mask, till my
leisure will serve to devise some durable and unstained blush of
painting.

HEU. Very good, sir.

PHA. Away, then, hie thee again; meet me at the court within this hour
at the farthest. [_Exit_ HEURESIS.] O heavens! how have I been troubled
these latter times with women, fools, babes, tailors, poets, swaggerers,
gulls, ballad-makers! They have almost disrobed me of all the toys and
trifles I can devise. Were it not that I pity the multitude of printers,
these sonnet-mongers should starve for conceits for all Phantastes. But
these puling lovers--I cannot but laugh at them, and their encomiums of
their mistresses. They make, forsooth, h