Manet Horace and Asinius.
Hor. How now? what ail’st thou, that thou look’st so pale.
Asin. Nay nothing, but I am afraide the Welsh Knight has giuen me nothing but purging Comfits: this Captaine stickes pockily in my stomack; read this scroule, he saies they’r rimes, and bid me giue them you.
Hor. Rimes? tis a challenge sent to you.
Asin. To me?
Hor. He saies heere you divulg’d my Epigrams.
Asin. And for that dares he challenge me?
Hor. You see he dares, but dare you answer him?
Asin. I dare answer his challenge, by word of mouth, or by writing, but I scorne to meete him, I hope he and I are not Paralels.