Jonson:
Loneliness, perhaps: in solitude one listens to the heart.
Marston [Interrupting.]
That’s weak, Jonson, childish-weak. Solitude breeds religion as the dark breeds devils—out of fear.
Dekker:
Religion’s a trade to the priest, an intrigue to women, to men a laughing-stock.
Chettle:
Don’t say that, don’t blaspheme, don’t attack the Faith, mad lads! I always mean to repent, but put off the evil day of reformation so long as health lasts. Conscience and sack struggle in me for the mastery, and the conflict makes me thirsty and so sack wins. But no scorners or blasphemers, say I.
Shakespeare:
We’re all godly at heart; eh, Chettle? We all wish other men virtuous, so that there’ll be more frolic for us.