poverty,--
_Tanti,_--I'll fawn first on the wind,
That glanceth at my lips, and flieth away.

_Enter three_ Poor Men.

But how now! what are these?
_Poor Men._ Such as desire your worship's service.
_Gav._ What canst thou do?
_First P. Man._ I can ride.
_Gav._ But I have no horse.--What art thou?
_Sec. P. Man._ A traveller.
_Gav._ Let me see; thou wouldst do well
To wait at my trencher, and tell me lies at dinner-time;
And, as I like your discoursing, I'll have you.--
And what art thou?
_Third P. Man._ A soldier, that hath serv'd against the Scot.
_Gav._ Why, there are hospitals for such as you:
I have no war; and therefore, sir, be gone.
_Third P. Man._ Farewell, and perish by a soldier's hand,
That wouldst reward them with an hospital!
_Gav._ Ay, ay, these words of his move me as much
As if a goose should play the porcupine,
And dart her plumes, thinking to pierce my breast.
But yet it is no pain to speak men fair;
I'll flatter these, and make them live in hope.-- [_Aside._
You know that I came lately out of France,
And yet I have not view'd my lord the king:
If I speed well, I'll entertain you all.
_All._ We thank your worship.
_Gav._ I have some business: leave me to myself.
_All._ We will wait here about the court.
_Gav._ Do. [_Exeunt Poor Men._
These are not men for me;
I must have wanton poets, pleasant wits,
Musicians, that with touching of a string
May draw the pliant king which way I please:
Music and poetry is his delight;
Therefore I'll have Italian masks by night,
Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows;
And in the day, when he shall walk abroad,
Like sylvan nymphs my pages shall be clad;
My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns,
Shall with their goat-feet dance the antic hay;
Sometime a lovely boy in Dian's shape,
With hair that gilds the water as it glides
Crownets of pearl about his naked arms,
And in his sportful hands an olive-tree,
To hide those parts which men delight to see,
Shall bathe him in a spring; and there, hard by,
One like Actaeon, peeping through the grove,
Shall by the angry goddess be transform'd,
And running in the likeness of an hart,
By yelping hounds pull'd down, shall semm to die:
Such things as these best please his majesty.--
Here comes my lord the king, and the nobles