]
Oh, it's our water-bearer: somewhat has crost him now.
COB. Fasting days: what tell you me of your fasting days?
would they were all on a light fire for me: they say the
world shall be consumed with fire and brimstone in the
latter day: but I would we had these ember weeks and these
villainous Fridays burnt in the mean time, and then --
PIS. Why, how now, Cob! what moves thee to this choler, ha?
COB. Collar, sir? 'swounds, I scorn your collar, I, sir,
am no collier's horse, sir, never ride me with your collar,
an you do, I'll shew you a jade's trick.
PIS. Oh, you'll slip your head out of the collar: why, Cob,
you mistake me.
COB. Nay, I have my rheum, and I be angry as well as
another, sir.
PIE. Thy rheum? thy humour, man, thou mistakest.
COB. Humour? mack, I think it be so indeed: what is
this humour? it's some rare thing, I warrant.
PIS. Marry, I'll tell thee what it is (as 'tis generally
received in these days): it is a monster bred in a man by
self-love and affectation, and fed by folly.
Pages:
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131