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