_Buss._ Crie you mercy! Now you have opened my dull eies, I see you, And would be glad to see the good you speake of: What might I call your name?
_Buss._ Monsieur Maffe? Then, good Monsieur Maffe, Pray let me know you better.
_Maff._ Pray doe so, That you may use me better. For your selfe, By your no better outside, I would judge you To be some poet. Have you given my lord 165 Some pamphlet?
_Buss._ Did your great masters goodnesse leave the good, That is to passe your charge to my poore use, To your discretion?
_Maff._ Though he did not, sir, I hope 'tis no rude office to aske reason 170 How that his Grace gives me in charge, goes from me?
_Maff._ Why, very good, sir; I pray, then, give me leave. If for no pamphlet, May I not know what other merit in you Makes his compunction willing to relieve you? 175
_Maff._ That is strange. Y'are a poore souldier, are you?
_Maff._ I see the man: a hundred crownes will make him Swagger, and drinke healths to his Graces bountie, 180 And sweare he could not be more bountifull; So there's nine hundred crounes sav'd. Here, tall souldier, His Grace hath sent you a whole hundred crownes.
_Buss._ A hundred, sir! Nay, doe his Highnesse right; I know his hand is larger, and perhaps 185 I may deserve more than my outside shewes. I am a poet as I am a souldier, And I can poetise; and (being well encourag'd) May sing his fame for giving; yours for delivering (Like a most faithfull steward) what he gives. 190
_Buss._ I care not much If to his bounteous Grace I sing the praise Of faire great noses, and to you of long ones. What qualities have you, sir, (beside your chaine And velvet jacket)? Can your Worship dance? 195
_Maff._ A pleasant fellow, faith; it seemes my lord Will have him for his jester; and, berlady, Such men are now no fooles; 'tis a knights place. If I (to save his Grace some crounes) should urge him T'abate his bountie, I should not be heard; 200 I would to heaven I were an errant asse, For then I should be sure to have the eares Of these great men, where now their jesters have them. Tis good to please him, yet Ile take no notice Of his preferment, but in policie 205 Will still be grave and serious, lest he thinke I feare his woodden dagger. Here, Sir Ambo!