t hold his water at
reading of a ballad?

Wel. O, no; a rhyme fu him is worse than cheese, or a bag-pipe; but
mark; you lose the protestation.

Mat. Faith, I did it in a humour; I know not how it is; but please
you come near, sir. This gentleman has judgment, he knows how to
censure of a--pray you, sir, you can judge?

Step. Not I, sir; upon my reputation, and by the foot of Pharaoh!

Wel. O, chide your cousin for swearing.

E. Know. Not I, so long as he does not forswear himself.

Bob. Master Mathew, you abuse the expectation of your dear
mistress, and her fair sister: fie! while you live avoid this
prolixity.

Mat. I shall, sir, well; incipere dulce.

E. Know. How, insipere duke! a sweet thing to be a fool, indeed!

Wel. What, do you take incipere in: that sense?

E. Know. You do not, you! This was your villainy, to gull him with
a motte.

Wel. O, the benchers' phrase: pauca verba, pauca verba!

Mat.
Rare creature, let me speak without offence,
Would God my rude words had the influence
To rule thy thoughts, as thy fair looks do mine,
Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine.

E. Know. This is Hero and Leander.

Wel. O, ay: peace, we shall have more of this.

Mat.
Be not unkind and fair: misshapen stuff
Is of behaviour boisterous and rough.

Wel. How like you that, sir? [Master Stephen shakes his head.

E. Know. 'Slight, he shakes his head like a bottle, to feel an there
be any brain in it.

Mat. But observe the catastrophe, now:
And I in duty will exceed all other,
As you in beauty do excel Love's mother.

E. Know. Well, I'll have him free of the wit-brokers, for he
utters nothing but stolen remnants.

Wel. O, forgive it him.

E. Know. A filching rogue, hang him!---and from the dead! it's
worse than sacrilege.
WELLBRED, E. KNOWELL, and Master STEPHEN, come forward.

Wel. Sister, what have you here, verses? pray you let's see: who
made these verses? they are excellent good.

Mat. O, Master Wellbred, 'tis your disposition to say so, sir. They
were good in the morning: I made them ex tempore this morning.

Wel. How! ex tempore?

Mat. Ay, would I might be hanged else; ask Captain Bobadill: he saw
me write them, at the--pox on it!--the Star, yonder.

Brai. Can he find in his heart to curse the stars so?

E. Know. Faith, his are even with him; t