_Acut_. Better and better, goodnes never mends so fast in the carrying:
nine!
_Cittie wife_. They say one is your guest, _Philautus_.
_Acut_. And all, I dare sweare, whome ile revive againe.
_Cittie wife_. Well he was a propper man, yfaith.
_Hostis_. I, and had good skill in prick-song, yet he had a fault in his
humor, as none are without (but Puritans,); he would swear like an
Elephant, and stamp and stare, (God blesse us,) like a play-house
book-keeper when the actors misse their entrance.
_Scil_. Nay, harke ye, sir, I can brooke much injurie but not that;
meddle with me but not with my trade; shee is mine owne, shee's _meus,
tuus, suus_, no man's else, I assure ye, we are sure[301] together.
_Grac_. Sure ye are together, sir, but is your wife your trade? You
meane to live upon your wife then.
_Acut_. The foole has some wit,[302] though his money bee gone.
_Grac_. Sir, I hope ye are not offended, I assure ye I would be loath to
offend the least haire of your _caput, sissiput_, or _occiput_.
_Scil_. _Occiput_? what meane you by _occiput_?
_Grac_.
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