The Player.
Why, here's persuasion; logic, arguments.
Nay, not the ballad. Read for thine own joy.
I doubt not but it stretches, honest length,
From Maid Lane to the Bridge and so across.
But for thy length of thirst—
[Giving him a coin.]
That touches near.
Chiffin [apart].
A vagrom player, would not buy a tale
O' the Great Fish with the twy rows o' teeth!
Learn you to read! [Exit.]
Simeon.
Thou seemest, sir, from that I have overheard,
A man, as one should grant, beyond thy calling....
I would I might assure thee of the way,
To urge thee quit this painted infamy.
There may be time, seeing thou art still young,
To pluck thee from the burning. How are ye 'stroyed,
Ye foolish grasshoppers! Cut off, forgotten,
When moth and rust corrupt your flaunting shows,
The Earth shall have no memory of your name!
Dickon.
Pray you, what's yours?
Simeon. I am called Simeon Dyer.
[There is the sudden uproar of a crowd in the distance. It continues at intervals for some time.]
Prentices. } Hey, lads?
} Some noise beyond: Come, cudgels, come!
} Come on, come on, I'm for it.
[Exeunt all but The Player, Simeon, and Dickon.]