Cokes. What! do they live in baskets?
Leath. They do lie in a basket, sir, they are o’ the small players.
Cokes. These be players minors indeed. Do you call these players?
Leath. They are actors, sir, and as good as any, none dispraised, for dumb shows: indeed, I am the mouth of them all.
Cokes. Thy mouth will hold them all. I think one tailor would go near to beat all this company with a hand bound behind him.
Lit. Ay, and eat them all too, an they were in cake-bread.
Cokes. I thank you for that, master Littlewit; a good jest! Which is your Burbage now?
Leath. What mean you by that, sir?
Cokes. Your best actor, your Field?
Lit. Good, i’faith! you are even with me, sir.