Tib. How will you be tried? [Aside to Crispinus. Tuc. By the Roman Gods, and the noblest Romans.
Cris. Dem. By the Roman gods, and the noblest Romans.
Virg. Here sits Mecaenas, and Cornelius Gallus, are you contented to be tried by these? [Aside. Tuc. Ay, so the noble captain may be joined with them in commission, say.
Cris. Dem. Ay, so the noble captain may be joined with them in commission.
Tuc. alas, my worshipful praetor! 'tis more of thy gentleness than of my deserving, I wusse. But since it hath pleased the court to make choice of my wisdom and gravity, come, my calumnious varlets; let's hear you talk for yourselves, now, an hour or two. What can you say? Make a noise. Act, act!
Virg. Stay, turn, and take an oath first. You shall swear, By thunder-darting Jove, the king of gods, And by the genius of Augustus Caesar; By your own white and uncorrupted souls, And the deep reverence of our Roman justice; To judge this case, with truth and equity: As bound by your religion, and your laws. Now read the evidence: but first demand Of either prisoner, if that writ be theirs. [Gives him two papers. Tib. Shew this unto Crispinus. Is it yours?
Tuc. Say, ay. [Aside.]--What! dost thou stand upon it, pimp! Do not deny thine own Minerva, thy Pallas, the issue of thy brain.
Tib. Shew that unto Demetrius. Is it yours?
Tuc. There's a father will not deny his own bastard now, I warrant thee.
Tib. Ramp up my genius, be not retrograde; But boldly nominate a spade a spade What, shall thy lubrical and glibbery muse Live, as she were defunct, like punk in stews!
Alas! that were no modern consequence, To have cothurnal buskins frighted hence. No, teach thy Incubus to poetise; And throw abroad thy spurious snotteries, Upon that puft-up lump of balmy froth.
Or clumsy chilblain'd judgment; that with oath Magnificates his merit; and beapawls The conscious time, with humorous foam and brawls, As if his organons of sense would crack The sinews of my patience. Break his back, O poets all and some! for now we list Of strenuous vengeance to clutch the fist. CRISPINUS.
Tuc. Ay, marry, this was written like a Hercules in poetry, now.
Tuc. This is a fellow of a good prodigal tongue too, this will do well.
Tib. Our Muse is in mind for th' untrussing a poet, I slip by his name, for most men do know it: A critic, that all the world bescumbers With satirical humours and lyrical numbers: