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The Poetaster by Ben Jonson
page 60 of 324 (18%)
Crispinus?

Cris. By this hand, lady, you hold a most sweet hand over him.

Alb. [re-entering.] And then, for the great gilt andirons--

Chloe. Again! Would the andirons were in your great guts for me!

Alb. I do vanish, wife.
[Exit.
Chloe. How shall I do, master Crispinus? here will be all
the bravest ladies in court presently to see your cousin Cytheris:
O the gods! how might I behave myself now, as to entertain them
most courtly?

Cris. Marry, lady, if you will entertain them most courtly, you
must do thus: as soon as ever your maid or your man brings you word
they are come, you must say, A pox on 'em I what do they here? And
yet, when they come, speak them as fair, and give them the kindest
welcome in words that can be. . . .

Chloe. Is that the fashion of courtiers, Crispinus?

Cris. I assure you it is, lady; I have observed it.

Chloe. For your pox, sir, it is easily hit on; but it is not so
easy to speak fair after, methinks.

Alb. [re-entering.] O, wife, the coaches are come, on my word; a
number of coaches and courtiers.
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