Caes. 
   There is no bounty to be shew’d to such
   As have no real goodness:  bounty is
   A spice of virtue; and what virtuous act
   Can take effect on them, that have no power
   Of equal habitude to apprehend it,
   But live in worship of that idol, vice,
   As if there were no virtue, but in shade
   Of strong imagination, merely enforced ? 
   This shews their knowledge is mere ignorance,
   Their far-fetch’d dignity of soul a fancy,
   And all their square pretext of gravity
   A mere vain-glory; hence, away with them! 
   I will prefer for knowledge, none but such
   As rule their lives by it, and can becalm
   All sea of Humour with the marble trident
   Of their strong spirits:  others fight below
   With gnats and shadows; others nothing know.
          
                                       [Exeunt.

Scene V.-A Street before the Palace. 
Enter Tucca, Crispinus, and Pyrgus.

Tuc.  What’s become of my little punk, Venus, and the poultfoot stinkard, her husband, ha?

Cris.  O; they are rid home in the coach, as fast as the wheels can run.

Tuc.  God Jupiter is banished, I hear, and his cockatrice Juno lock’d up.  ’Heart, an all the poetry in Parnassus get me to be a player again, I’ll sell ’em my share for a sesterce.  But this is Humours, Horace, that goat-footed envious slave; he’s turn’d fawn now; an informer, the rogue! ’tis he has betray’d us all.  Did you not see him with the emperor crouching?

Cris.  Yes.

Tuc.  Well, follow me.  Thou shalt libel, and I’ll cudgel the rascal.  Boy, provide me a truncheon.  Revenge shall gratulate him, tam Marti, quam Mercurio.

Pyr.  Ay, but master, take heed how you give this out; Horace is a man of the sword.

Cris.  ’Tis true, in troth; they say he’s valiant.

[Horace passes over the stage.  Tuc.  Valiant? so is mine a—.  Gods and fiends!  I’ll blow him into air when I meet him next:  he dares not fight with a puck-fist.

Pyr.  Master, he comes!

Tuc.  Where?  Jupiter save thee, my good poet, my noble prophet, my little fat Horace.—­I scorn to beat the rogue in the court; and I saluted him thus fair, because he should suspect nothing, the rascal.  Come, we’ll go see how far forward our journeyman is toward the untrussing of him.
          
                                             [Exeunt.

SceneVI. 
Enter Horace, Mecaenas, Lupus, Histrio, and Lictors.

Cris.  Do you hear, captain?  I’ll write nothing in it but innocence, because I may swear I am innocent.

Hor.  Nay, why pursue you not the emperor for your reward now, Lupus?

Mec. 
   Stay, Asinius;
   You and your stager, and your band of lictors: 
   I hope your service merits more respect,
   Than thus, without a thanks, to be sent hence.