Sli. Fellow, frend thou doest disbuse me, I am a Gentlemã.
Bar. A Gentleman, how so?
Slip. Why I rub horses sir. 1190
Bar. And what of that?
Sip. Oh simple witted, marke my reason, they that do good
seruice in the Common-weale are Gentlemen, but such as rub
horses do good seruice in the Common-weale, Ergo tarbox
Maister Courtier, a Horse-keeper is a Gentleman.
Bar. Heere is ouermuch wit in good earnest:
But sirrha where is thy Maister?
Slip. Neither aboue ground nor vnder ground,
Drawing out red into white,
Swallowing that downe without chawing, 1200
That was neuer made without treading.
Bar. Why where is hee then?
Slip. Why in his seller, drinking a cup of neate and briske
claret, in a boule of siluer: Oh sir the wine runnes trillill down
his throat, which cost the poore viutnerd many a stampe before
it was made: but I must hence sir, I haue haste.
Bar. Why whither now I prithee?