be seen. 
  I had no suit there, nor new suit to shew,
  Yet went to court:  but as Glare, which did go
  To mass in jest, catch’d, was fain to disburse
  The hundred marks, which is the statute’s curse,
  Before he ’scap’d; so’t pleas’d my Destiny
  (Guilty of my sin of going) to think me
  As prone to all ill, and of good as forget-
  Ful, as proud, lustful, and as much in debt,
  As vain, as witless, and as false as they
  Which dwell in court, for once going that way,
  Therefore I suffer’d this:  Towards me did run
  A thing more strange than on Nile’s slime the sun
  E’er bred, or all which into Noah’s ark came;
  A thing which would have pos’d Adam to name: 
  Stranger than seven antiquaries’ studies,
  Than Afric’s monsters, Guiana’s rarities;
  Stranger than strangers; one who for a Dane
  In the Danes’ massacre had sure been slain,
  If he had liv’d then, and without help dies
  When next the ’prentices ’gainst strangers rise;
  One whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by;
  One t’ whom th’ examining justice sure would cry,
  Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are. 
  His clothes were strange, though coarse, and black, though bare;
  Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been
  Velvet, but ’twas now (so much ground was seen)
  Become tufftaffaty; and our children shall
  See it plain rash a while, then nought at all. 
  The thing hath travail’d, and, faith, speaks all tongues,
  And only knoweth what t’ all states belongs. 
  Made of th’ accents and best phrase of all these,
  He speaks one language.  If strange meats displease,
  Art can deceive, or hunger force my taste;
  But pedant’s motley tongue, soldier’s bombast,
  Mountebank’s drug-tongue, nor the terms of law,
  Are strong enough preparatives to draw
  Me to hear this, yet I must be content
  With his tongue, in his tongue call’d Compliment;
  In which he can win widows, and pay scores,
  Make men speak treason, cozen subtlest whores,
  Outflatter favourites, or outlie either
  Jovius or Surius, or both together. 
  He names me, and comes to me; I whisper, God! 
  How have I sinn’d, that thy wrath’s furious rod,
  This fellow, chooseth me?  He saith, Sir,
  I love your judgment; whom do you prefer
  For the best linguist? and I sillily
  Said, that I thought Calepine’s Dictionary. 
  Nay, but of men?  Most sweet Sir!  Beza, then
  Some Jesuits, and two reverend men
  Of our two academies, I nam’d.  Here
  He stopt me, and said; Nay, your apostles were
  Good pretty linguists; so Panurgus was,
  Yet a poor gentleman; all these may pass
  By travel.  Then, as if he would have sold
  His tongue, he prais’d it, and such wonders told,
  That I was fain to say, If you had liv’d, Sir,
  Time enough to have been interpreter
  To Babel’s bricklayers, sure the