PHI. Ay, and he has a very imperfect face.
PHA. Like a sea-monster, that were to ravish Andromeda from the
rock.
PHI. His hands too great too, by at least a straw's breadth.
PHA. Nay, he has a worse fault than that too.
PHI. A long heel?
PHA. That were a fault in a lady, rather than him: no, they say
he puts off the calves of his legs, with his stockings, every
night.
PHI. Out upon him! Turn to another of the pictures, for love's
sake. What says Argurion? Whom does she commend afore the rest?
CUP. I hope I have instructed her sufficiently for an answer.
[ASIDE.]
MOR. Troth, I made the motion to her ladyship for one to-day,
i'the presence, but it appear'd she was otherways furnished before:
she would none.
PHA. Who was that Argurion?
MOR. Marry, the poor plain gentleman in the black there.
PHA. Who, Crites?
ARG. Ay, ay, he: a fellow that nobody so much as look'd upon, or
regarded; and she would have had me done him particular grace.
PHA. That was a true trick of yourself, Moria, to persuade
Argurion to affect the scholar.
ARG. Tut, but she shall be no chooser for me. In good faith, I
like the citizen's son there, Asotus; methinks none of them all
come near him.
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