M. You are for me, friend, and I am for you.  But I pray you, may
     I not have an office there?

     D. Yes, a thousand; what wouldst thou be?

     M. By my troth, Sir, in a place where I may profit myself.  I know
     hell is a hot place, and men are marvellous dry, and much drink is
     spent there.  I would be a tapster.

In one play Greene introduces a court-fool, and he mixes with the stupidity and knavery of his clowns, a sort of artificial philosophy and argumentative ingenuity, which savours much of the old jesters.  In “James the Fourth” Slipper says:—­

     O mistress, mistress, may I turn a word upon you?

     Countess. Friend, what wilt thou?

Slipper. O! what a happy gentlewoman be you truly; the world reports this of you, mistress, that a man can no sooner come to your house, but the butler comes with a black-jack, and says, “Welcome, friend, here’s a cup of the best for you,” verily, mistress, you are said to have the best ale in all Scotland.

     Countess. Sirrah, go fetch him drink [an attendant brings
     drink.] How likest thou this?

Slip. Like it mistress! why this is quincy quarie, pepper de watchet, single goby, of all that ever I tasted.  I’ll prove in this ale, and toast the compass of the whole world.  First, this is the earth; it ties in the middle a fair brown toast, a goodly country for hungry teeth to dwell upon; next this is the sea, a fair pool for a dry tongue to fish in; now come I, and seeing the world is naught, I divide it thus:  and because the sea cannot stand without the earth, as Aristotle saith, I put them both into their first chaos, which is my belly, and so, mistress, you may see your ale is become a miracle.

Further on Slipper again shows his readiness in dialogue—­

     Sir Bartram. Ho, fellow! stay and let me speak with thee.

     Slip. Fellow! friend thou dost abuse me:  I am a gentleman.

     Sir B. A gentleman! how so?

     Slip. Why, I rub horses, Sir.

     Sir B. And what of that?

Slip. O simple-witted! mark my reason.  They that do good service in the commonweal are gentlemen, but such as rub horses do good service in the commonweal, ergo, tarbox, master courtier, a horse-keeper is a gentleman.

     Sir B. Here is over much wit in good earnest.  But, sirrah, where
     is thy master?

     Slip. Neither above ground nor under ground; drawing out red into
     white, swallowing that down without chawing, which was never made
     without treading.

     Sir B. Why, where is he then?

Slip. Why in his cellar, drinking a cup of neat and brisk claret in a bowl of silver.  Oh, Sir, the wine runs trillill down his throat, which cost the poor vintner many a stamp before it was made.  But I must hence, Sir, I have haste.

Sir Bertram intimates that he wants his assistance, and will pay him.