Pac. Patience Lazarillo; let contemplation be thy food awhile: I say unto thee, one Pease was a Soldiers Provant a whole day, At the destruction of Jerusalem.
Enter Metaldi, and Mendoza.
Laz. I; and it were any where but at the destruction of a place, I'll be hang'd.
Met. Signior Pachieco Alasto, my most ingenious Cobler of Sevil, the bonos noxios to your Signiorie.
Pac. Signior Metaldi de Forgio, my most famous Smith, and man of Mettle, I return your courtesie ten fold, and do humble my Bonnet beneath the Shooe-sole of your congie: the like to you Signior Mendoza Pediculo de Vermim, my most exquisite Hose-heeler.
Laz. Here's a greeting betwixt a Cobler, a Smith, and a Botcher: they all belong to the foot, which makes them stand so much upon their Gentrie.
Mend. Signior Lazarillo.
Laz. Ah Signior see: nay, we are all Signiors here in Spain, from the Jakes-farmer to the Grandee, or Adelantado: this Botcher looks as if he were Dough-bak'd, a little Butter now, and I could eat him like an Oaten-cake: his fathers diet was new Cheese and Onions when he got him: what a scallion-fac'd rascal 'tis!
Met. But why Signior Pachieco, do you stand so much on the priority, and antiquity of your quality (as you call it) in comparison of ours?
Mend. I; your reason for that.