To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
What ayles thy brother? can he not hold his water, at reading of a ballad?
O, no: a rime to him, is worse then cheese, or a bag-pipe. But, marke, you loose the protestation.
Faith, I did it in an humour; I know not how it is: but, please you come neere, sir. This gentleman ha's iudgement, hee knowes how to censure of a—pray you sir, you can iudge.
Not I, sir: vpon my reputation, and, by the foot of PHAROAH.
O, chide your cossen, for swearing.
Not I, so long as he do's not for sweare himselfe.
Master MATTHEW, you abuse the expectation of your deare mistris, and her faire sister: Fie, while you liue, auoid this prolixitie.
I shall, sir: well, In••ipere dulce.
How! Insipere dulce? a sweet thing to be a foole, indeed.
What, doe you take Insipere, in that sense?
You doe not? you? This was your villanie, to gull him with a mo••te.
O, the Benchers phrase: pauca verba, pauca verba.
S'light, he shakes his head like a bottle, to feele and there be a∣ny braine in it!
Well, Ile haue him free of the wit-brokers, for hee vtters no∣thing, but stolne remnants.
O, forgiue it him.
A filtching rogue? hang him. And, from the dead? it's worse then sacrilege.
Sister, what ha' you here? verses? pray you, lets see. Who made these verses? they are excellent good!
O, master WEL-BRED, 'tis your disposition to say so, sir. They were good i' the morning, I made 'hem, extempore, this morning.
How? extempore?
I, would I might bee hang'd else: aske Captayne BOBADILE. He saw me write them, at the—(poxe on it) the starre, yonder.
Can he find, in his heart, to curse the starres, so?
Faith, his are euen with him: they ha' curst him ynough alreadie.
Cosen, how doe you like this gentlemans verses?
O, admirable! the best that euer I heard, cousse!
I am vext, I can hold ne're a bone of mee still! Heart, I thinke, they meane to build, and breed here!
Sister, you haue a simple seruant here, that crownes your beau∣tie, with such encomions, and deuises: you may see, what it is to be the mi∣stris of a wit! that can make your perfections so transparent, that euery bleare eye may looke through them, and see him drown'd ouer head, and eares, in the deepe well of desire. Sister KITELY, I maruaile, you get you not a seruant, that can rime, and doe tricks, too.
Oh monster! impudence it selfe! tricks?
Tricks, brother? what tricks?
Nay, speake, I pray you, what tricks?
I, neuer spare any body here: but say, what tricks?
Passion of my heart! doe tricks?
S'light, here's a trick vyed, and reuyed! why, you munkies, you? what a catter-waling doe you keepe? ha's hee not giuen you rimes, and verses, and tricks?
O, the fiend!
Nay, you, lampe of virginitie, that take it in snuffe so! come, and cherish this tame poeticall furie, in your seruant, you'll be begg'd else, shortly, for a concealement: goe to, reward his muse. You cannot giue him lesse then a shilling, in conscience, for the booke, he had it out of, cost him a teston, at least. How now, gallants? Mr. MATTHEW? Captayne? What? all sonnes of silence? no spirit?
Come, you might practise your ruffian-tricks somewhere else, and not here, I wusse: this is no tauerne, nor drinking-schole, to vent your exploits in.
How now! whose cow ha's calu'd?
Mary, that ha's mine, sir. Nay, Boy, neuer looke askance at me, for the matter; Ile tell you of it, I, sir, you, and your companions, mend your selues, when I ha' done?
My companions?
Yes sir, you companions, so I say, I am not afraid of you, nor them neither: your hang-byes here. You must haue your Poets, and your potlings, your soldado's, and foolado's, to follow you vp and downe the ci∣tie, and here they must come to domineere, and swagger. Sirrha, you, ballad-singer, and slops, your fellow there, get you out; get you home: or (by this steele) Ile cut off your eares, and that, presently.
S'light, stay, let's see what he dare doe: cut off his eares? cut a whetstone. You are an asse, doe you see? touch any man here, and by this hand, Ile runne my rapier to the hilts in you.
Yea, that would I faine see, boy.
O Iesu! murder. THOMAS, GASPAR!
Helpe, helpe, THOMAS.
Gentlemen, forbeare, I pray you.
Well, sirrah, you, HOLOFERNES: by my hand, I will pinck your flesh, full of holes, with my rapier for this; I will, by this good hea∣uen: Nay, let him come, let him come, gentlemen, by the body of Saint GEORGE, Ile not kill him.
Hold, hold, good gentlemen.
You whorson, bragging coystrill: