|1955| _Mi._ O most pittifull as blunt as my great thumbe.
_Sir Vau._ By Sesu, as blunt as a Welsh bag-pudding.
_Tuc._ As blunt as the top of Poules; tis not like thy Aloe, Cicatrine tongue, bitter: no, tis no stabber, but like thy goodly and glorious nose, blunt, blunt, blunt: dost roare bulchin? dost |1960| roare? th’ ast a good rounciuall voice to cry Lanthorne & Candlelight.
_Sir Va._ Two vrds Horace about your eares: how chance it passes, that you bid God boygh to an honest trade of building Symneys, and laying downe Brickes, for a worse handicraftnes, |1965| to make nothing but railes; your Muse leanes vpon nothing but filthy rotten railes, such as stand on Poules head, how chance?
_Sir Va._ You lye sir varlet sir villaine, I am sir Salamanders, ounds, is my man Master Peter Salamanders face as vrse as |1970| mine? Sentlemen, all and Ladies, and you say once or twice Amen, I will lap this little Silde, this Booby in his blankets agen.
_Tuc._ A blanket, these crackt Venice glasses shall fill him out, they shall tosse him, holde fast wag-tailes: so, come, in, take |1975| this bandy with the racket of patience, why when? dost stampe mad Tamberlaine, dost stampe? thou thinkst th’ast Morter vnder thy feete, dost?
|1980| _Sir Vau._ Hold, silence, the puppet-teacher speakes.
_Ho._ Sir Vaughan, noble Capten, Gentlemen, Crispinus, deare Demetrius ô redeeme me, Out of this infamous---- by God by Iesu----
_Cri._ Nay, sweare not so good Horace, now these Ladies, |1985| Are made your executioners: prepare, To suffer like a gallant, not a coward; Ile trie t’ vnloose, their hands, impossible. Nay, womens vengeance are implacable.
_Hor._ Why, would you make me thus the ball of scorne?
|1990| _Tuc._ Ile tell thee why, because th’ ast entred Actions of assault and battery, against a companie of honourable and worshipfull Fathers of the law: you wrangling rascall, law is one of the pillers ath land, and if thou beest bound too’t (as I hope thou shalt bee) thou’t prooue a skip-Jacke, thou’t be whipt. Ile tell |1995| thee why, because thy sputtering chappes yelpe, that Arrogance, and Impudence, and Ignoraunce, are the essentiall parts of a Courtier.
_Sir Vau._ You remember Horace, they will puncke, and pincke, and pumpe you, and they catch you by the coxcombe: on I |2000| pray, one lash, a little more.