hey have curst him enough
already.

Step. Cousin, how do you like this gentleman's verses?

E. Know. O, admirable! the best that ever I heard, coz.

Step. Body O' Caesar, they are admirable! the best that I ever
heard, as I am a soldier!

Re-enter DOWNRIGHT.

Dow. I am vext, I can hold ne'er a bone of me still: 'Heart, I
think they mean to build and breed here.

Wet. Sister, you have a simple servant here, that crowns your
beauty with such encomiums and devices; you may see what it is to
be the mistress of a wit, that can make your perfections so
transparent, that every blear eye may look through them, and see
him drowned over head and ears in the deep well of desire: Sister
Kitely. I marvel you get you not a servant that can rhyme, and do
tricks too.

Dow. O monster! impudence itself! tricks!

Dame K. Tricks, brother! what tricks?

Brid. Nay, speak, I pray you what tricks?

Dame K. Ay, never spare any body here; but say, what tricks.

Brid. Passion of my heart, do tricks!

Wel. 'Slight, here's a trick vied and revied! Why, you monkeys,
you, what a cater-wauling do you keep! has he not given you rhymes
and verses and tricks?

Dow. O, the fiend!

Wel. Nay, you lamp of virginity, that take it in snuff so, come,
and cherish this tame poetical fury in your servant; you'll be
begg'd else shortly for a concealment: go to, reward his muse. You
cannot give him less than a shilling in conscience, for the book he
had it out of cost him a teston at least. How now, gallants! Master
Mathew! Captain! what, all sons of silence, no spirit?

Dow. Come, you might practise your ruffian tricks somewhere else,
and not here, I wuss; this is no tavern or drinking-school, to vent
your exploits in.

Wel. How now; whose cow has calved?

Dow. Marry, that has mine, sir.

Nay, boy, never look askance at me for the matter; I'll tell you of
it, I, sir; you and your companions mend yourselves when I have
done.

Wel. My companions!

Dow. Yes, sir, your companions, so I say; I am not afraid of you,
nor them neither; your hang-byes here. You must have your poets and
your potlings, your soldados and foolados to follow you up and down
the city; and here they must come to domineer and swagger. Sirrah,
you ballad-singer, and slops your fellow there, get you out, get
you home; or by this steel, I'll cut off your ears, a