show?

COM. SEN. Why in such anger, Tactus? what's the matter?

TAC. My lord, I had thought, as other Senses did,
By sight of objects to have prov'd my worth;
Wherefore considering that, of all the things
That please me most, women are counted chief,
I had thought to have represented in my show
The queen of pleasure, Venus and her son,
Leading a gentleman enamoured
With his sweet touching of his mistress' lips,
And gentle griping of her tender hands,
And divers pleasant relishes of touch,
Yet all contained in the bounds of chastity.

PHA. Tactus, of all I long to see your objects;
How comes it we have lost those pretty sports?

TAC. Thus 'tis: five hours ago I set a dozen maids to attire a boy like
a nice gentlewoman; but there is such doing with their looking-glasses,
pinning, unpinning, setting, unsetting, formings and conformings;
painting blue veins and cheeks; such stir with sticks and combs,
cascanets, dressings, purls, falls, squares, busks, bodies, scarfs,
necklaces, carcanets, rebatoes, borders, tires, fans, palisadoes, puffs,
ruffs, cuffs, muffs, pusles, fusles, partlets, frislets, bandlets,
fillets, crosslets, pendulets, amulets, annulets, bracelets, and so many
lets, that yet she's scarce dressed to the girdle; and now there is such
calling for fardingales, kirtles, busk-points, shoe-ties, &c., that
seven pedlars' shops--nay, all Stourbridge fair, will scarce furnish
her. A ship is sooner rigged by far, than a gentlewoman made ready.

PHA. 'Tis strange that women, being so mutable,
Will never change in changing their apparel.

COM. SEN. Well, let them pass; Tactus, we are content
To know your dignity by relation.

TAC. The instrument of instruments, the hand,
Courtesy's index, chamberlain to nature,
The body's soldier, and mouth's caterer,
Psyche's great secretary, the dumb's eloquence,
The blind man's candle, and his forehead's buckler,
The minister of wrath, and friendship's sign,
This is my instrument: nevertheless my power
Extends itself far as our queen commands,
Through all the parts and climes of Microcosm.
I am the root of life, spreading my virtue
By sinews, that extend from head to foot
To every living part.
For as a subtle spider, closely sitting
In centre of her web that spreadeth round,
If the least fly but touch the smallest thread,
She feels it instantly; so doth myself,
Casting my slender nerves and sundry nets
O'er every particle of all the body,
By proper skill perceive