WILL. Nay, Wit and Will are at strife, when there's nobody but me. WIT. Let pass, and of our shields, sirs, let's make a little glee. Will, what gives thy master here? a buzzard or a kite? WILL. Wit, you show yourself a gentleman by guessing so right. A buzzard? thou buzzard! Wit, hast no more skill, Than take a falcon for a buzzard? WIT. O be quiet, good Will: It was but for sport, for I know the bird else. WEALTH. Thou mightest see it was no buzzard, man, by the bells.[233] WIT. What's the reason of this falcon? I pray thee, Will, show. WILL. Thou knowest that a falcon soars high, and stoops low: So doth Pleasure. WIT. But what's the word? WILL. _Pour temps_, for time. WIT. A very pretty one: I would it were in rhyme. WEALTH. In rhyme, Wit! why so? WIT. Because it wants reason. WILL. Look for my fist, Wit, if ye rap out such treason. WIT. Treason to what, boy? WILL. To my master's bird. WIT. Now, Will, my thumb wags: it was but to his word. WILL. 'Tis a pleasant gentleman, this young Master Wit. Your master hath something too: I pray ye, what's it? WIT. Look, Will, and guess. WILL. 'Tis a toad in a shell. WEALTH. I had as lief ye had said a frog in a well. WIT. Is't not a great butterfly? Will, can'st thou tell? WILL. What is it in sadness? WIT. A tortoise, my boy; whose shell is so hard that a loaden cart may go over and not break it, and so she is safe within, and wheresoever she goes she bears it on her back, needing neither other succour or shelter, but her shell. The word underneath her is _Providens securus_, the provident is safe, like the tortoise armed with his own defence, and defended with his own armour; in shape somewhat round, signifying compass, wherein always the provident foresee to keep themselves within their own compass, my boy. WILL. Wittily spoken. Now, Wealth's master hath got a daffadowndilly. WEALTH. If Will had not been wilful, now, he might have said a lily, whose glory is without comparison and beauty matchless; for Solomon, the most sumptuous king that ever was, was never comparable in glory with the lily; neither is there any city matchable with the pomp of London. Mistake me not, good boys, that this pomp tends to pride; yet London hath enough, but my Lord Pomp doth rightly represent the stately magnificence and sumptuous estate, without pride or vainglory, to London accommodate; and therefore the word is well applied to the impress (_Glory sans peere_), for that the lily is neither proud of the beauty, nor vainglorious of the pomp; no more is London; but if it be joyful of anything, it is of the grace and plenty, both flowing from two such fountains as becomes not us to name. Now, therefore, my good boys, know that my master is rather Magnificence than Pomp in bad sense, and rather Pomp than Pride in the best sense.