And all these named,
Intending but one thing; which art our writers
Used to obscure their art.
MAM. Sir, so I told him --
Because the simple idiot should not learn it,
And make it vulgar.
SUB. Was not all the knowledge
Of the Aegyptians writ in mystic symbols?
Speak not the scriptures oft in parables?
Are not the choicest fables of the poets,
That were the fountains and first springs of wisdom,
Wrapp'd in perplexed allegories?
MAM. I urg'd that,
And clear'd to him, that Sisyphus was damn'd
To roll the ceaseless stone, only because
He would have made Ours common.
DOL [APPEARS AT THE DOOR]. --
Who is this?
SUB. 'Sprecious! -- What do you mean? go in, good lady,
Let me entreat you.
[DOL RETIRES.]
-- Where's this varlet?
[RE-ENTER FACE.]
FACE. Sir.
SUB. You very knave! do you use me thus?
FACE. Wherein, sir?
SUB. Go in and see, you traitor. Go!
[EXIT FACE.]
MAM. Who is it, sir?
SUB. Nothing, sir; nothing.
MAM. What's the matter, good sir?
I have not seen you thus distemper'd: who is't?
SUB. All arts have still had, sir, their adversaries;
But ours the most ignorant. --
[RE-ENTER FACE.]
What now?
FACE. 'Twas not my fault, sir; she would speak with you.
SUB. Would she, sir! Follow me.
[EXIT.]
MAM [STOPPING HIM]. Stay, Lungs.
FACE. I dare not, sir.
MAM. Stay, man; what is she?
FACE. A lord's sister, sir.
MAM. How! pray thee, stay.
FACE. She's mad, sir, and sent hither --
He'll be mad too.
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