CLER: Why, believe it, Dauphine, Truewit's a very honest fellow.

DAUP: I think no other: but this frank nature of his is not for
secrets.

CLER: Nay, then, you are mistaken, Dauphine: I know where he has been
well trusted, and discharged the trust very truly, and heartily.

DAUP: I contend not, Ned; but with the fewer a business is carried,
it is ever the safer. Now we are alone, if you will go thither, I
am for you.

CLER: When were you there?

DAUP: Last night: and such a Decameron of sport fallen out! Boccace
never thought of the like. Daw does nothing but court her; and the
wrong way. He would lie with her, and praises her modesty; desires
that she would talk and be free, and commends her silence in
verses: which he reads, and swears are the best that ever man
made. Then rails at his fortunes, stamps, and mutines, why he is
not made a counsellor, and call'd to affairs of state.

CLER: I prithee let's go. I would fain partake this. Some water,
boy.

[EXIT PAGE.]

DAUP: We are invited to dinner together, he and I, by one that came
thither to him, sir La-Foole.