ish to her fame,
That such lean, ignorant, and blasted wits,
Such brainless gulls, should utter their stol'n wares
With such applauses in our vulgar ears:
Or that their slubber'd lines have current pass
From the fat judgments of the multitude,
But that this barren and infected age
Should set no difference 'twixt these empty spirits
And a true poet: than which reverend name
Nothing can more adorn humanity.

[ENTER WITH TORCHES.]

CLEM. Ay, Lorenzo, but election is now governed altogether by
the influence of humour, which, instead of those holy flames
that should direct and light the soul to eternity, hurls forth
nothing but smoke and congested vapours, that stifle her up, and
bereave her of all sight and motion. But she must have a store
of hellebore given her to purge these gross obstructions: oh,
that's well said, give me thy torch, come, lay this stuff
together. So, give fire! there, see, see, how our poet's glory
shines brighter and brighter, still, still it increaseth, oh,
now it's at the highest, and now it declines as fast: you may
see, gallants, "sic transit gloria mundi." Well now, my two
signior outsides, stand forth, and lend me your large ears, to
a sentence, to a sentence: first, you, Signior, shall this night
to the cage, and so shall you, sir, from thence to-morrow morning,
you, Signior, shall be carried to the market cross, and be there
bound: and so shall you, sir, in a large motley coat, with a rod
at your girdle; and you in an old suit of sackcloth, and the
ashes of your papers (save the ashes, sirrah) shall mourn all day,
and at night both together sing some ballad of repentance very
piteously, which you shall make to the tune of "Who list to lead
and a soldier's life." Sirrah bill-man, embrace you this torch,
and light the gentlemen to their lodgings, and because we tender
their safety, you shall watch them to-night, you are provided for
the purpose, away, and look to your charge with an open eye,
sirrah.

BOB. Well, I am arm'd in soul against the worst of fortune.

MAT. Faith, so should I be, an I had slept on it.

PET. I am arm'd too, but I am not like to sleep on it.

MUS. Oh, how this pleaseth me.

[EXEUNT.]

CLEM. Now, Signior Thorello, Giuliano, Prospero, Biancha.

STEP. And not me, sir.

CLEM. Yes, and you, sir: I had lost a sheep an he ha