,
able to sink this hulk of ignorance into the bottom and depth of his
contempt.

CAR. Oh, 'tis Macilente! Signior, you are well encountered; how is it?
O, we must not regard what he says, man, a trout, a shallow fool, he has no
more brain than a butterfly, a mere stuft suit; he looks like a musty
bottle new wicker'd, his head's the cork, light, light! [ASIDE TO
MACILENTE.] -- I am glad to see you so well return'd, signior.

MAC. You are! gramercy, good Janus.

SOG. Is he one of your acquaintance? I love him the better for that.

CAR. Od's precious, come away, man, what do you mean? an you knew him as
I do, you'd shun him as you would do the plague.

SOG. Why, sir?

CAR. O, he's a black fellow, take heed of him.

SOG. Is he a scholar, or a soldier?

CAR. Both, both; a lean mongrel, he looks as if he were chop-fallen, with
barking at other men's good fortunes: 'ware how you offend him; he carries
oil and fire in his pen, will scald where it drops: his spirit is like
powder, quick, violent; he'll blow a man up with a jest: I fear him worse
than a rotten wall does the cannon; shake an hour after at the report.
Away, come not near him.

SOG. For God's sake let's be gone; an he be a scholar, you know I cannot
abide him; I had as lieve see a cockatrice, specially as cockatrices go now.

CAR. What, you'll stay, signior? this gentleman Sogliardo, and I, are to
visit the knight Puntarvolo, and from thence to the city; we shall meet there.
[EXIT WITH SOGLIARDO.

MAC. Ay, when I cannot shun you, we will meet.
'Tis strange! of all the creatures I have seen,
I envy not this Buffone, for indeed
Neither his fortunes nor his parts deserve it:
But I do hate him, as I hate the devil,
Or that brass-visaged monster Barbarism.
O, 'tis an open-throated, black-mouth'd cur,
That bites at all, but eats on those that feed him.
A slave, that to your face will, serpent-like,
Creep on the ground, as he would eat the dust,
And to your back will turn the tail, and sting
More deadly than the scorpion: stay, who's this?
Now, for my soul, another minion
Of the old lady Chance's! I'll observe him.

[ENTER SORDIDO WITH AN ALMANACK IN HIS HAND.
SORD. O rare! good, good, good, good, good!
I thank my stars, I thank my stars for it.

MAC. Said I not true? doth not his passion speak
O