Sir Vau. Master Horace, Master Horace, when I pray to God, and desire in hipocritnes that bald Sir Adams were heer, then, then, then begin to make your railes at the pouertie and beggerly want of haire.
Hor. Leaue it to my iudgement.
Sir Vau. M. Bubo sit there, you and I wil thinke vpon our ends at the Tables: M. Horace, put your learned bodie into the midst of these Ladies; so tis no matter to speake graces at nuncions, because we are all past grace since dinner.
Asini. Mas I thanke my destinie I am not past grace, for by this hand full of Carrawaies, I could neuer abide to say grace.
Dica. Mistris Miniuer, is not that innocent Gentleman a kinde of foole?
Min. Why doe you aske Madam?
Dicach. Nay for no harme, I aske because I thought you two had been of acquaintaine.
Min. I thinke he’s within an Inch of a foole.
Dicach. Madam Philocalia, you sit next that spare Gentleman, wod you heard what Mistris Miniuer saies of you.