at is strange.
Y'are a poore souldier, are you?

_Buss._ That I am, sir.

_Maff._ And have commanded?

_Buss._ I, and gone without, sir.

_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

_Maff._ What shall your subject be?

_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!

_Buss._ How, Ambo, Sir?

_Maff._ I, is not your name Ambo?

_Buss._ You call'd me lately D'Amboys; has your Worship
So short a head?

_Maff._ I cry thee mercy, D'Amboys. 210
A thousand crownes I bring you from my lord;
If you be thriftie, and play the good husband, you may make
This a good standing living; 'tis a bountie,
His Highnesse might perhaps have bestow'd better.

_Buss._ Goe, y'are a rascall; hence, away, you rogue!
[_Strikes him._] 215

_Maff._ What meane you, sir?

_Bus