ANA. Speak, guardian. Name the prize, at the Bare Accost.
MOR. A pair of wall-eyes in a face forced.
ANA. Give the monsieur. Amorphus hath lost his eyes.
AMO. I! Is the palate of your judgment down? Gentles, I do
appeal.
ASO. Yes, master, to me: the judges be fools.
ANA. How now, sir! tie up your tongue, mungrel. He cannot
appeal.
ASO. Say, you sir?
ANA. Sit you still, sir.
ASO. Why, so I do; do not I, I pray you?
MER. Remercie, madame, and these honourable censors.
AMO. Well, to the second weapon, the "Better Regard". I will
encounter you better. Attempt.
HED. Sweet Honour.
PHI. What says my good Ambition?
HED. Which take you at this next weapon? I lay a Discretion with
you on Amorphus's head.
PHI. Why, I take the French-behaved gentleman.
HED. 'Tis done, a Discretion.
CRI. A Discretion! A pretty court-wager! Would any discreet
person hazard his wit so?
PHA. I'll lay a Discretion with you, Anaides.
ANA. Hang 'em, I'll not venture a doit of Discretion on either of
their heads.
CRI. No, he should venture all then.
ANA. I like none of their plays. [A CHARGE.]
HED. See, see! this is strange play!
ANA.
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