, once; marry, that was but to shew what a gentleman might do in a
humour.

CAR. O, very good.

MIT. Why, this fellow's discourse were nothing but for the word humour.

COR. O bear with him; an he should lack matter and words too, 'twere pitiful.

SOG. Nay, look you, sir, there's ne'er a gentleman in the country has the
like humours, for the hobby-horse, as I have; I have the method for the
threading of the needle and all, the --

CAR. How, the method?

SOG. Ay, the leigerity for that, and the whighhie, and the daggers in the
nose, and the travels of the egg from finger to finger, and all the humours
incident to the quality. The horse hangs at home in my parlour. I'll keep
it for a monument as long as I live, sure.

CAR. Do so; and when you die, 'twill be an excellent trophy to hang over
your tomb.

SOG. Mass, and I'll have a tomb, now I think on't; 'tis but so much charges.

CAR. Best build it in your lifetime then, your heirs may hap to forget it
else.

SOG. Nay, I mean so, I'll not trust to them.

CAR. No, for heirs and executors are grown damnable careless, 'specially
since the ghosts of testators left walking. -- How like you him, signior?

FAST. 'Fore heavens, his humour arrides me exceedingly.

CAR. Arrides you!

FAST. Ay, pleases me: a pox on't! I am so haunted at the court, and at
my lodging, with your refined choice spirits, that it makes me clean of
another garb, another sheaf, I know not how! I cannot frame me to your
harsh vulgar phrase, 'tis against my genius.

Sog. Signior Carlo!
[TAKES HIM ASIDE.

COR. This is right to that of Horace, "Dum vitant stulti vitia, in
contraria currunt"; so this gallant labouring to avoid popularity, falls
into a habit of affectation, ten thousand times hatefuller than the former.

CAR. [POINTING TO FASTIDIOUS.] Who, he? a gull, a fool, no salt in him
i' the earth, man; he looks like a fresh salmon kept in a tub; he'll be
spent shortly. His brain's lighter than his feather already, and his
tongue more subject to lye, than that is to wag; he sleeps with a musk-cat
every night, and walks all day hang'd in pomander chains for penance; he
has his skin tann'd in civet, to make his complexion strong, and the
sweetness of his youth lasting in the sense of his sweet lady; a good empty
puff, he loves you well, signior.

S