Get. Would it would come with thinking, for then o' my conscience,
I should be at least a Senator.
Max. A Sowter;
For that's a place more fitted to thy nature,
If there could be such an expectation;
Or say, the Devil could perform this wonder;
Can such a Rascal as thou art, hope for honour?
Such a log-carrying Lowt?
Get. Yes, and bear it too,
And bear it swimmingly. I am not the first Ass, Sir,
Has born good office, and perform'd it reverendly.
Dio. Thou being the Son of a Tiler, canst thou hope to be a Senator?
Get. Thou being the Son of a Tanner, canst thou hope to be an Emperor?
Dio. Thou sayst true, Geta, there's a stop indeed;
But yet the bold and vertuous—
Get. Ye are right, Master,
Right as a Gun; For we the vertuous,
Though we be Kennel-rakers, Scabs, and Scoundrels,
We the discreet and bold; and yet, now I remember it,
We Tilers may deserve to be Senators;
And there we step before you thick-skin'd Tanners,
For we are born three stories high; no base ones,
None of your groundlings, master.
Dio. I like thee well,
Thou hast a good mind, as I have, to this Honour.
Get. As good a mind, Sir, of a simple plaisterer—
And when I come to execute my office,
Then you shall see.
Max. What?