ith myself. What a villanous fate have
I! With all these excellencies, and a profound wit, and yet to be a
serving-man!

_Enter_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO.

_Aur._ Why, you slave, you dog, you son of twenty fathers, am I to be
served at this rate eternally? A pox of your conceited coxcomb!

_Cam._ Nay, pr'ythee, Aurelian, be not angry.

_Aur._ You do not know this rogue, as I do, Camillo. Now, by this
guitar, and that great looking-glass, I am certain how he has spent
his time. He courts himself every morning in that glass at least an
hour; there admires his own person, and his parts, and studies
postures and grimaces, to make himself yet more ridiculous than he was
born to be.

_Cam._ You wrong him, sure.

_Aur._ I do; for he is yet more fool than I can speak him. I never
sent him on a message, but he runs first to that glass, to practise
how he may become his errand. Speak, is this a lie, sirrah?

_Ben._ I confess, I have some kindness for the mirror.

_Aur._ The mirror! there's a touch of his poetry too; he could not
call it a glass. Then the rogue has the impudence to make sonnets, as
he calls them; and, which is greater impudence, he sings them too;
there's not a street in all Rome which he does not nightly disquiet
with his villanous serenade: with that guitar there, the younger
brother of a cittern, he frights away the watch; and for his violin,
it squeaks so lewdly, that Sir Tibert[1] in the gutter mistakes him
for his mistress. 'Tis a mere cat-call.

_Cam._ Is this true, Benito?

_Ben._ to _Cam._ [_Aside._] My master, sir, may say his pleasure; I
divert myself sometimes with hearing him. Alas, good gentleman, 'tis
not given to all persons to penetrate into men's parts and qualities;
but I look on you, sir, as a man of judgment, and therefore you shall
hear me play and sing. [_He takes up the guitar, and begins._

_Aur._ Why, you invincible sot you, will nothing mend you? Lay it
down, or--

_Ben._ to _Cam._ Do ye see, sir, this enemy to the muses? he will not
let me hold forth to you. [_Lays down the guitar._] O envy and
ignorance, whither will you!--But, gad, before I'll suffer my parts to
be kept in obscurity--

_Aur_, What will you do, rascal?

_Ben._ I'll take up the guitar, and suffer heroically.
[_He plays,_ AUR. _kicks._

_Aur._ What? do you mutiny?

_Ben._ Ay, do, kick till your toes ache; I'll be baffled in my music
by ne'er a foo