MER. Good Jove, what reverend gentlewoman in years might this be?
CUP. 'Tis madam Moria, guardian of the nymphs; one that is not now
to be persuaded of her wit; she will think herself wise against all
the judgments that come. A lady made all of voice and air, talks
any thing of any thing. She is like one of your ignorant poetasters
of the time, who, when they have got acquainted with a strange
word, never rest till they have wrung it in, though it loosen the
whole fabric of their sense.
MER. That was pretty and sharply noted, Cupid.
CUP. She will tell you, Philosophy was a fine reveller, when she
was young, and a gallant, and that then, though she say it, she was
thought to be the dame Dido and Helen of the court: as also, what
a sweet dog she had this time four years, and how it was called
Fortune; and that, if the Fates had not cut his thread, he had been
a dog to have given entertainment to any gallant in this kingdom;
and unless she had whelp'd it herself, she could not have loved a
thing better in this world.
MER. O, I prithee no more; I am full of her.
CUP. Yes, I must needs tell you she composes a sack-posset well;
and would court a young page sweetly, but that her breath is
against it.
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