Asini. To me? I pledge thee sweet Ningle, by Bacchus quaffing boule, I thought th’adst drunke to me.
Hor. It must haue been in the deuine lycour of Pernassus, then in which, I know you would scarce haue pledg’d me, but come sweet roague, sit, sit, sit.
Asini. Ouer head and eares yfaith? I haue a sacke-full of newes for thee, thou shalt plague some of them, if God send vs life and health together.
Hor. Its no matter, empty thy sacke anon, but come here first honest roague, come.
Asini. Ist good, Ist good, pure Helicon ha?
Hor. Dam me ift be not the best that euer came from me, if I haue any iudgement, looke sir, tis an Epithalamium for Sir Walter Terrels wedding, my braines haue giuen assault to it but this morning.
Asin. Then I hope to see them flye out like gun-powder ere night.
Hor. Nay good roague marke, for they are the best lynes that euer I drew.
Asin. Heer’s the best leafe in England, but on, on, Ile but tune this Pipe.