ARISTIPPUS. By mine own experience I prove true that many men tell, To live in court not beloved, better be in hell: What crying out, what cursing, is there within of Carisophus, Because he accused Damon to King Dionysius! Even now he came whining and crying into the court for the nonce, Showing that one Onaphets had broke his knave’s sconce. Which strange name when they heard every man laugh’d heartily, And I by myself scann’d his name secretly; For well I knew it was some mad-headed child That invented this name, that the log-headed knave might be beguil’d. In tossing it often with myself to and fro, I found out that Onaphets backward spelled Stephano. I smiled in my sleeve, how to see by turning his name he dress’d him, And how for Damon his master’s sake with a wooden cudgel he bless’d him. None pitied the knave, no man nor woman; but all laugh’d him to scorn. To be thus hated of all, better unborn: Far better Aristippus hath provided, I trow; For in all the court I am beloved both of high and low. I offend none, insomuch that women sing this to my great praise, _Omnis Aristippum decuit color, et locus et res_. But in all this jollity one thing ’mazeth me, The strangest thing that ever was heard or known, Is now happened in this court by that Damon, Whom Carisophus accused: Damon is now at liberty, For whose return Pithias his friend lieth in prison, alas, in great jeopardy. To-morrow is the day, which day by noon if Damon return not, earnestly The king hath sworn that Pithias should die; Whereof Pithias hath intelligence very secretly, Wishing that Damon may not return, till he hath paid His life for his friend. Hath it been heretofore ever said, That any man for his friend would die so willingly? O noble friendship! O perfect amity! Thy force is here seen, and that very perfectly. The king himself museth hereat, yet he is far out of square, That he trusteth none to come near him: not even his own daughters will he have Unsearch’d to enter his chamber, while[86] he hath made barbers his beard to shave, Not with knife or razor, for all edge-tools he fears, But with hot burning nutshells they singe off his hairs. Was there ever man that lived in such misery? Well, I will go in--with a heavy and pensive heart, too, To think how Pithias, this poor gentleman, to-morrow shall die. [_Exit._ _Here entereth_ JACK _and_ WILL. JACK. Well, by mine honesty, I will mar your monkey’s[87] face, if you so fondly prate. WILL. Jack, by my troth, seeing you are without the court-gate, If you play Jack-napes, in mocking my master and despising my face, Even here with a pantable[88] I will you disgrace; And though you have a far better face than I, Yet who is better man of us two these fists shall try, Unless you leave your taunting.