GUS. Neither of yours, but mine as much as both.
AUD. And mine the most of any of you all.
VIS. Give me it, or else—
TAC. I'll make you late repent it—
GUS. Presumptuous as you are—
AUD. Spite of your teeth—
MEN. Never till now. Ha, ha! it works apace. [Aside.
Visus, I know 'tis yours; and yet methinks,
Auditus, you should have some challenge to it;
But that your title, Tactus, is so good,
Gustus, I would swear the coronet were yours:
What, will you all go brawl about a trifle?
View but the pleasant coast of Microcosm,
Is't not great pity to be rent with wars?
Is't not a shame to stain with brinish tears
The smiling cheeks of ever-cheerful peace?
Is't not far better to live quietly,
Than broil in fury of dissension?
Give me the crown, ye shall not disagree,
If I can please you. I'll play Paris' part,
And, most impartial, judge the controversy.
VIS. Sauce-box! go meddle with your lady's fan,
And prate not here.
MEN. I speak not for myself,
But for my country's sole[200] commodity.
VIS. Sirrah, be still.