ary, yonder;
his villainous Ganymede and he have been droning a tobacco-pipe there ever
since yesterday noon.

PUNT. Who? signior Tripartite, that would give my dog the whiffe?

CAR. Ay, he. They have hired a chamber and all, private, to practise in,
for the making of the patoun, the receipt reciprocal, and a number of other
mysteries not yet extant. I brought some dozen or twenty gallants this
morning to view them, as you'd do a piece of perspective, in at a key-hole;
and there we might see Sogliardo sit in a chair, holding his snout up like
a sow under an apple-tree, while the other open'd his nostrils with a
poking-stick, to give the smoke a more free delivery. They had spit some
three or fourscore ounces between 'em, afore we came away.

PUNT. How! spit three or fourscore ounces?

CAR. Ay, and preserv'd it in porrengers, as a barber does his blood, when
he opens a vein.

PUNT. Out, pagan! how dost thou open the vein of thy friend?

CAR. Friend! is there any such foolish thing in the world, ha? 'slid I
never relished it yet.

PUNT. Thy humour is the more dangerous.

CAR. No, not a whit, signior. Tut, a man must keep time in all; I can oil
my tongue when I meet him next, and look with a good sleek forehead; 'twill
take away all soil of suspicion, and that's enough: what Lynceus can see
my heart? Pish, the title of a friend! it's a vain, idle thing, only
venerable among fools; you shall not have one that has any opinion of wit
affect it.

ENTER DELIRO AND MACILENTE.
DELI. Save you, good sir Puntarvolo.

PUNT. Signior Deliro! welcome.

DELI. Pray you, sir, did you see master Fastidious Brisk? I heard he was
to meet your worship here.

PUNT. You heard no figment, sir; I do expect him at every pulse of my watch.

DELI. In good time, sir.

CAR. There's a fellow now looks like one of the patricians of Sparta;
marry, his wit's after ten i' the hundred: a good bloodhound, a
close-mouthed dog, he follows the scent well; marry, he's at fault now,
methinks.

PUNT. I should wonder at that creature is free from the danger of thy tongue.

CAR. O, I cannot abide these limbs of satin, or rather Satan indeed, that
will walk, like the children of darkness, all day in a melancholy shop,
with their pockets full of blanks, ready to swallow up as many poor
unthrifts as com