AMORETTO. 
Father, shall I draw?

SIR RADERIC. 
No, son; keep thy peace, and hold the peace.

INGENIOSO. 
Nay, do not draw, lest you chance to bepiss your credit.

FUROR.
Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo. 
Fearful Megaera, with her snaky twine,
Was cursed dam unto thy damned self;
And Hircan tigers in the desert rocks
Did foster up thy loathed, hateful life;
Base Ignorance the wicked cradle rock’d,
Vile Barbarism was wont to dandle thee;
Some wicked hellhound tutored thy youth. 
And all the grisly sprights of griping hell
With mumming look hath dogg’d thee since thy birth: 
See how the spirits do hover o’er thy head,
As thick as gnats in summer eveningtide. 
Baleful Alecto, prythee, stay awhile,
Till with my verses I have rack’d his soul;
And when thy soul departs, a cock may be
No blank at all in hell’s great lottery—­
Shame sits and howls upon thy loathed grave,
And howling, vomits up in filthy guise
The hidden stories of thy villanies.

SIR RADERIC. 
The devil, my masters, the devil in the likeness of a poet!  Away,
my masters, away!

PHANTASMA.
Arma, virumque cano. 
Quem fugis, ah demens?

AMORETTO.  Base dog, it is not the custom in Italy to draw upon every idle cur that barks; and, did it stand with my reputation—­O, well, go to; thank my father for your lives.

INGENIOSO.  Fond gull, whom I would undertake to bastinado quickly, though there were a musket planted in thy mouth, are not you the young drover of livings Academico told me of, that haunts steeple fairs?  Base worm, must thou needs discharge thy carbine[116] to batter down the walls of learning?

AMORETTO.  I think I have committed some great sin against my mistress, that I am thus tormented with notable villains, bold peasants.  I scorn, I scorn them! [Exit.

FUROR to RECORDER. 
Nay, prythee, good sweet devil, do not thou part;
I like an honest devil, that will show
Himself in a true hellish, smoky hue: 
How like thy snout is to great Lucifer’s? 
Such talents[117] had he, such a gleering eye,
And such a cunning sleight in villany.

RECORDER. 
O, the impudency of this age!  And if I take you in my quarters—­
          
                                               [Exit.

FUROR. 
Base slave, I’ll hang thee on a crossed rhyme,
And quarter—­

INGENIOSO. 
He is gone; Furor, stay thy fury.

SIR RADERIC’S PAGE. 
I pray you, gentlemen, give three groats for a shilling.

AMORETTO’S PAGE. 
What will you give me for a good old suit of apparel?

PHANTASMA.
Habet et musca splenem, et formicae sua bilis inest.

INGENIOSO.  Gramercy,[118] good lads.  This is our share in happiness, to torment the happy.  Let’s walk along and laugh at the jest; it’s no staying here long, lest Sir Raderic’s army of bailiffs and clowns be sent to apprehend us.