Lap. 'Tis the Book sells the Table.
Clow. But 'tis the Bookseller
That has the money for 'em, I'm sure o' that.
Lap. 'Twill much enrich the Company of Stationers,
'Tis thought 'twill prove a lasting benefit,
Like the Wise Masters, and the Almanacks,
The hundred Novels, and the Book of Cookery,
For they begin already to engross it,
And make it a Stock-book, thinking indeed
'Twill prove too great a benefit, and help,
For one that's new set up: they know their way,
And make him Warden, e'r his beard be gray.
Moul. Is't possible such virtue should lye hid,
And in so little Paper?
Lap. How? why there was the Carpenter,
An unknown thing; an odoriferous Pamphlet,
Yet no more Paper, by all computation,
Than Ajax Telamon would use at once,
Your Herring prov'd the like, able to buy
Another Fishers Folly, and your Pasquil
Went not below the mad-caps of that time,
And shall my elaborate Kick come behind, think you?
Clow. Yes, it must come behind, 'tis in Italica too,
According to your humor.
Lap. Not in sale, Varlet.
Clow. In sale, Sir? it shall sail beyond 'em all I tro.
Lap. What have you there now? oh Page 21.
Clow. That Page is come to his years, he should be a Serving man.