Bob. With your leave, sir, an there were no more men living upon
th' face of the earth, I should not fancy him, by St. George!

Mat. Troth, nor I; he is of a rustical cut, I know not how: he doth
not carry himself like a gentleman of fashion.

Wel. Oh, master Mathew, that's a grace peculiar but to a few, quos
aequus amavit Jupiter.

Mat. I understand you, sir.

Wel. No question, you do,--or do you not, sir.
Enter E. KNOWELL and Master STEPHEN.
Ned Knowell! by my soul, welcome: how dost thou, sweet spirit, my
genius? 'Slid, I shall love Apollo and the mad Thespian girls the
better, while I live, for this, my dear Fury; now, I see there's
some love in thee. Sirrah, these be the two I writ to thee of: nay,
what a drowsy humour is this now! why dost thou not speak?

E. Know. Oh, you are a fine gallant; you sent me a rare letter.

Wel. Why, was't not rare?

E. Know. Yes, I'll be sworn, I was ne'er guilty of reading the
like; match it in all Pliny, or Symmachus's epistles, and I'll have
my judgment burn'd in the ear for a rogue: make much of thy vein,
for it is inimitable. But I marle what camel it was, that had the
carriage of it; for, doubtless, he was no ordinary beast that
brought it.

Wel. Why?

E. Know. Why, say'st thou! why, dost thou think that any reasonable
creature, especially in the morning, the sober time of the day too,
could have mistaken my father for me?

Wel. 'Slid, you jest, I hope.

E. Know. Indeed, the best use we can turn it to, is to make a jest
on't; now: but I'll assure you, my father had the full view of your
flourishing style some hour before I saw it.

Wel. What a dull slave was this! but, sirrah, what said he to it,
i'faith?

E. Know. Nay, I know not what he said; but I have a shrewd guess
what he thought.

Wel. What, what?

E. Know. Marry, that thou art some strange, dissolute young fellow,
and I--a grain or two better, for keeping thee company.

Wel. Tut! that thought is like the moon in her last quarter, 'twill
change shortly: but, sirrah, I pray thee be acquainted with my two
hang-by's here; thou wilt take exceeding pleasure in them if thou
hear'st 'em once go; my wind-instruments; I'll wind them up--But
what strange piece of silence is this, the sign of the Dumb Man?

E. Know. Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may make your music
the fuller, an he please