My drink should be the whey,
And I would have a mincing lass to love me every day.
Poppy. Nay, goodman Curtall, your discretions are very simple; let me cramp him with a reason. Sirrah, whether is better good ale or small-beer? Alas! see his simplicity that cannot answer me; why, I say ale.
Curtall. And so say I, neighbour.
Poppy. Thou hast reason; ergo, say I, ’tis better be a king than a clown. Faith, Master Sylla, I hope a man may now call ye knave by authority.
Even more impertinent, because they violate the truth of character and misrepresent an historical person, are some of the liberties Lodge takes with Marius. Such is the device with the echo, which he transfers from the love scenes of poetical Arcady, where it is quite appropriate, to the mountains of Numidia, where it would hardly be in place even if we disregarded the temperament and circumstances of the exile.
Marius. Thus Marius lives disdain’d of all the gods,
Echo. Gods!
Marius. With deep despair late overtaken wholly.
Echo. O, lie!