Send I these lines, wherein I do commence
The happy state of true deserving lovers.
If they prove rough, unpolish'd, harsh, and rude,
Haste made that waste; thus mildly I conclude."

BOB. Nay, proceed, proceed, where's this? where's this?

MAT. This, sir, a toy of mine own in my non-age: but when will
you come and see my study? good faith, I can shew you some very
good things I have done of late: that boot becomes your leg
passing well, sir, methinks.

BOB. So, so, it's a fashion gentlemen use.

MAT. Mass, sir, and now you speak of the fashion, Signior
Prospero's elder brother and I are fallen out exceedingly: this
other day I happened to enter into some discourse of a hanger,
which, I assure you, both for fashion and workmanship was most
beautiful and gentlemanlike; yet he condemned it for the most
pied and ridiculous that ever he saw.

BOB. Signior Giuliano, was it not? the elder brother?

MAT. Ay, sir, he.

BOB. Hang him, rook! he! why, he has no more judgment than a
malt-horse. By St. George, I hold him the most peremptory absurd
clown (one a them) in Christendom: I protest to you (as I am a
gentleman and a soldier) I ne'er talk'd with the like of him: he
has not so much as a good word in his belly, all iron, iron, a
good commodity for a smith to make hob-nails on.

MAT. Ay, and he thinks to carry it away with his manhood still
where he comes: he brags he will give me the bastinado, as I hear.

BOB. How, the bastinado? how came he by that word, trow?

MAT. Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me; I termed it so for the
more grace.

BOB. That may be, for I was sure it was none of his word: but
when, when said he so?

MAT. Faith, yesterday, they say, a young gallant, a friend of
mine, told me so.

BOB. By the life of Pharaoh, an't were my case now, I should send
him a challenge presently: the bastinado! come hither, you shall
challenge him; I'll shew you a trick or two, you shall kill him at
pleasure, the first stoccado if you will, by this air.

MAT. Indeed, you have absolute knowledge in the mystery, I have
heard, sir.

BOB. Of whom? of whom, I pray?

MAT. Faith, I have heard it spoken of divers, that you have very
rare skill, sir.

BOB. By heaven, no, not I, no skill in the earth: some small
science, know my time, distance, or so, I have profest it more for