Matthew. Oh! it’s your only fine humour, sir. Your
true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir. I am
melancholy myself, divers times, sir; and then do I no
more but take pen and paper presently, and overflow
you half a score or a dozen of sonnets at a sitting.
Stephen. Truly, sir, and I love such things out of
Matthew. Why, I pray you, sir, make use of my
study: it’s at your service.
Stephen. I thank you, sir, I shall be bold, I warrant
you. Have you a stool there, to be melancholy upon?
- BEN JONSON: Every Man in his Humour.
- A. 3. S. 1.