clever writings that his persevering talents produced.
BLOUNT.
He must be a happy dog now, I think: up in the seventh heaven.
LADY SHREWDLY.
Nay, nay! fallen from that exaltation deplorably. And if thou hast a mind, I'll engage thee in a plot to restore the poor man to some part of his lost felicity, and mortify his affected spouse at the same time. Canst thou put a Brutus-wig on thy head, and become a great orator for a season?
BLOUNT.
Can I not? I have danced upon deck, ere now, with a turban on my head, as a sultana of the royal harem.
LADY SHREWDLY.
Come, then; thou art just the man I want. Let us go to my closet, where we may concert the whole matter without interruption.
(As they are going off, he stops and laughs heartily.)
What tickles your fancy so? Don't stop here.
BLOUNT.
Methinks she is now before my eyes, this same ardent peeress who makes such commotion
