Marston:
Let’s hear it!
Jonson:
Read it, Fletcher, read it!
Chettle:
No. No! Mad lads! That forked radish there shall not clapperclaw my work. If you must hear it I’ll read it myself. No whipper-snapper shall squeak my words! Now, lads, listen! [Reads.] “To fair Mistress Tagge, the best hostess in London; argal in the world! I kiss your hands most beauteous and bountiful; I have but now seen your drawer and heard that you want twenty angels to-night. The time’s short, but I’ll bring them as I’m a true man unless the rascal bookseller lies in his promise to me and that he’ll not dare——
Jonson:
What a poor cheat! Who’s the bookseller, Chettle?
Chettle:
[Reads on.] “This very night I’ll bring the angels to my angel!”