Asi. If you flye out Ningle, heer’s your Cloake; I thinke it raines too.
Ho. Hide my shoulders in’t.
Asi. Troth so th’adst neede, for now thou art in thy Pee and Kue; thou hast such a villanous broad backe, that I warrant th’art able to beare away any mans iestes in England.
Hor. It’s well Sir, I ha strength to beare yours mee thinkes; fore God you are growne a piece of a Critist, since you fell into my hands: ah little roague, your wit has pickt vp her crums prettie and well.
Asi. Yes faith, I finde my wit a the mending hand Ningle; troth I doe not thinke but to proceede Poetaster next Commencement, if I haue my grace perfectlie: euerie one that confer with me now, stop their nose in merriment, and sweare I smell somewhat of Horace; one calles me Horaces Ape, another Horaces Beagle, and such Poeticall names it passes. I was but at Barbers last day, and when he was rencing my face, did but crie out, fellow thou makst me Conniue too long, & sayes he, Master Asinius Bubo, you haue eene Horaces wordes as right as if he had spit them into your mouth.
Hor. Well, away deare Asinius, deliuer this letter to the young Gallant Druso, he that fell so strongly in loue with mee yesternight.
Asin. It’s a sweete Muske-cod, a pure spic’d-gull; by this feather I pittie his Ingenuities; but hast writ all this since Ningle? I know thou hast a good running head and thou listest.
Hor. Foh come, your great belly’d wit must long for euery thing too; why you Rooke, I haue a set of letters readie starcht to my hands, which to any fresh suited gallant, that but newlie enters his name into my rowle, I send the next morning, ere his ten a clocke dreame has rize from him, onelie with claping my hand to’t, that my Nouice shall start, ho and his haire stand an end, when hee sees the sodaine flash of my writing; what you prettie Diminitiue roague, we must haue false fiers to amaze these spangle babies, these true heires of Ma. Justice Shallow.