PLAYER.
I think 'twas Soto that your honour means.
LORD.
'Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.
Well, you are come to me in happy time,
The rather for I have some sport in hand
Wherein your cunning can assist me much.
There is a lord will hear you play to-night;
But I am doubtful of your modesties,
Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour, —
For yet his honour never heard a play, —
You break into some merry passion
And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,
If you should smile, he grows impatient.
PLAYER.
Fear not, my lord; we can contain ourselves,
Were he the veriest antick in the world.
