_Tuc._ Ile tell thee why, because thou cryest ptrooh at worshipfull Cittizens, and cal’st them Flat-caps, Cuckolds, and banckrupts, and modest and vertuous wiues punckes & cockatrices. Ile tell thee why, because th’ast arraigned two Poets against all |2005| lawe and conscience; and not content with that, hast turn’d them amongst a company of horrible blacke Fryers.
_Sir Vau._ The same hand still, it is your owne another day, M. Horace, admonitions is good meate.
_Tuc._ Thou art the true arraign’d Poet, and shouldst haue been |2010| hang’d, but for one of these part-takers, these charitable Copperlac’d Christians, that fetcht thee out of Purgatory, (Players I meane) Theaterians pouch-mouth, Stage-walkers; for this Poet, for this, thou must lye with these foure wenches, in that blancket, for this----
|2015| _Hor._ What could I doe, out of a iust reuenge, But bring them to the Stage? they enuy me because I holde more worthy company.
_Deme._ Good Horace, no; my cheekes doe blush for thine, As often as thou speakst so, where one true |2020| And nobly-vertuous spirit, for thy best part Loues thee, I wish one ten, euen from my heart. I make account I put vp as deepe share In any good mans loue, which thy worth earnes, As thou thy selfe; we enuy not to see, |2025| Thy friends with Bayes to crowne thy Poesie. No, heere the gall lyes, we that know what stuffe Thy verie heart is made of; know the stalke On which thy learning growes, and can giue life To thy (once dying) basenes; yet must we |2030| Dance Antickes on your Paper.
_Cri._ This makes vs angry, but not enuious, No, were thy warpt soule, put in a new molde, Ide weare thee as a Iewell set in golde.
|2035| _Sir Vau._ And Iewels Master Horace, must be hang’d you know.
_Tuc._ Good Pagans, well said, they haue sowed vp that broken seame-rent lye of thine, that Demetrius is out at Elbowes, and Crispinus is falne out with Sattin heere, they haue; but bloate-herring dost heare?
|2040| _Hor._ Yes honour’d Captaine, I haue eares at will.
_Tuc._ Ist not better be out at Elbowes, then to bee a bond-slaue, and to goe all in Parchment as thou dost?
_Horace._ Parchment Captaine? tis Perpetuana I assure you.
_Tuc._ My Perpetuall pantaloone true, but tis waxt ouer; th’art |2045| made out of Wax; thou must answere for this one day; thy Muse is a hagler, and weares cloathes vpon best-be-trust: th’art great in some bodies books for this, thou knowst where; thou wouldst bee out at Elbowes, and out at heeles too, but that thou layest about thee with a Bill for this, a Bill--