Hort. Madam, my Instrument's in tune

Bian. Let's heare, oh fie, the treble iarres

Luc. Spit in the hole man, and tune againe

Bian. Now let mee see if I can conster it. Hic ibat simois,
I know you not, hic est sigeria tellus, I trust you not,
hic staterat priami, take heede he heare vs not, regia presume
not, Celsa senis, despaire not

Hort. Madam, tis now in tune

Luc. All but the base

Hort. The base is right, 'tis the base knaue that iars

Luc. How fiery and forward our Pedant is,
Now for my life the knaue doth court my loue,
Pedascule, Ile watch you better yet:
In time I may beleeue, yet I mistrust

Bian. Mistrust it not, for sure Aeacides
Was Aiax cald so from his grandfather

Hort. I must beleeue my master, else I promise you,
I should be arguing still vpon that doubt,
But let it rest, now Litio to you:
Good master take it not vnkindly pray
That I haue beene thus pleasant with you both