ANA. Nor I out of Memory's mouth,[241] but in a worse sort, always exercising my stumps, and, which is more, when he favours best, then I am in the worst taking.
MEN. How so?
ANA. Thus: when we are friends, then must I come and be dandled upon his palsy-quaking knees, and he'll tell me a long story of his acquaintance with King Priamus and his familiarity with Nestor, and how he played at blowpoint[242] with Jupiter, when he was in his sidecoats, and how he went to look bird-nests with Athous,[243] and where he was at Deucalion's flood, and twenty such old wives' tales.
MEN. I wonder he, being so old, can talk so much.
ANA. Nature, thou know'st, knowing what an unruly engine the tongue is, hath set teeth round about for watchmen. Now, sir, my master's old age hath coughed out all his teeth, and that's the cause it runs so much at liberty.
MEN. Philosophical!
ANA. O, but there's one thing stings me to the very heart—to see an ugly, foul, idle, fat, dusty cloghead, called Oblivio, preferred before me. Dost know him?
MEN. Who, I? Ay, but care not for his acquaintance. Hang him, blockhead! I could never abide him. Thou, Remembrance, are the only friend that the arms of my friendship shall embrace. Thou hast heard Oportet mendacem esse memorem. But what of Oblivio?
ANA. The very naming of him hath made me forget myself. O, O, O, O, that rascal is so made of everywhere!
MEN. Who, Oblivio?