rospero's temper will not bear
Any reproof, chiefly in such a presence,
Where every slight disgrace he should receive,
Would wound him in opinion and respect.

GIU. Respect? what talk you of respect 'mongst such
As had neither spark of manhood nor good manners?
By God I am ashamed to hear you: respect?

[EXIT.]

HES. Yes, there was one a civil gentleman,
And very worthily demeaned himself.

THO. Oh, that was some love of yours, sister.

HES. A love of mine? i'faith, I would he were
No other's love but mine.

BIA. Indeed, he seem'd to be a gentleman of an exceeding
fair disposition, and of very excellent good parts.

[EXIT HESPERIDA, BIANCHA.]

THO. Her love, by Jesu: my wife's minion,
Fair disposition? excellent good parts?
'Sheart, these phrases are intolerable,
Good parts? how should she know his parts? well, well,
It is too plain, too clear: Piso, come hither.
What, are they gone?

PIS. Ay, sir, they went in.

THO. Are any of the gallants within?

PIS. No sir, they are all gone.

THO. Art thou sure of it?

PIS. Ay, sir, I can assure you.

THO. Piso, what gentleman was that they praised so?

PISO. One they call him Signior Lorenzo, a fair young
gentleman, sir.

THO. Ay, I thought so: my mind gave me as much:
'Sblood, I'll be hang'd if they have not hid him in the house,
Some where, I'll go search, Piso, go with me,
Be true to me and thou shalt find me bountiful.

[EXEUNT.]

ACT III. SCENE V.

ENTER COB, TO HIM TIB.

COB. What, Tib, Tib, I say.

TIB. How now, what cuckold is that knocks so hard?
Oh, husband, is't you? What's the news?

COB. Nay, you have stunn'd me, i'faith; you have given me
a knock on the forehead will stick by me: cuckold?
'Swounds, cuckold?

TIB. Away, you fool, did I know it was you that knock'd?
Come, come, you may call me as bad when you list.

COB. May I? 'swounds, Tib, you are a whore.

TIB. 'Sheart, you lie in your throat.

COB. How, the lie? and in my throat too? do you long to
be stabb'd, ha?

TIB. Why, you are no soldier?

COB. Mass, that's true, when was Bobadilla here? that
rogue, that slave, that fencing Burgullion? I'll tickle
him, i'faith.

TIB. Why, what's the matter?

COB. Oh, he hath basted me rarely, sumptuously: but I have
it here will sauce