Taverners. } { 'Tis so; ay.
Prentices. } { Come, follow! Come.
Wat. Greg's stuck his ears
With nosegays, and his chain is wound about
Like any May-pole. What? I tell ye, boys,
Ye have seen no such bear, a Bear o' Bears,
Fit to bite off the prophet, in the show,
With seventy such boys!
[Pulling Dickon's ear]. Bears, say you, bears?
Why, Rursus Major, as your scholars tell,
A royal bear, the greatest in his day,
The sport of Alexander, unto Nick—
Was a ewe-lamb, dyed black; no worse, no worse.
To-morrow come and see him with the dogs;
He'll not give way,—not he!
Dickon. To-morrow's Thursday!
To-morrow's Thursday!
Prentice. Will ye lead by here?
Tobias.
Ay, that would be a sight. Wat, man, this way!
Wat.
Ho, would you squinch us? Why, there be a press
O' gentry by this tide to measure Nick
And lay their wagers, at a blink of him,
Against to-morrow! Why, the stairs be full.
To-morrow you shall see the Bridge a-creak,
The river—dry with barges,—London gape,
Gape! While the Borough buzzes like a hive
With all their worships! Sirs, the fame o' Nick
Has so pluckt out the gentry by the sleeve,
'Tis said the Queen would see him.
Tobias. } { Ay, 'tis grand.
Dickon. } { O-oh, the Queen?
Prentice.
How now? Thou art no man to lead a bear,
Forgetting both his quality and hers!
Drink all; come, drink to her.