POPPEY. Then, worshipful Master Sylla, be it known unto you, That my neighbour's daughter Dority Was a maid of restority; Fair, fresh, and fine As a merry cup of wine; Her eyes like two potch'd eggs, Great and goodly her legs; But mark my doleful ditty, Alas! for woe and pity! A soldier of your's Upon a bed of flowers Gave her such a fall, As she lost maidenhead and all. And thus in very good time I end my rudeful rhyme. SYLLA. And what of this, my friend? why seek you me, Who have resign'd my titles and my state, To live a private life, as you do now? Go move the Consul Flaccus in this cause, Who now hath power to execute the laws. CURTALL. And are you no more master dixcator, nor generality of the soldiers? SYLLA. My powers do cease, my titles are resign'd. CURTALL. Have you signed your titles? O base mind, that being in the Paul's steeple of honour, hast cast thyself into the sink of simplicity. Fie, beast! Were I a king, I would day by day Suck up white bread and milk, And go a-jetting in a jacket of silk; My meat should be the curds, My drink should be the whey, And I would have a mincing lass to love me every day. POPPEY. Nay, goodman Curtall, your discretions are very simple; let me cramp him with a reason. Sirrah, whether is better good ale or small-beer? Alas! see his simplicity that cannot answer me: why, I say ale. CURTALL. And so say I, neighbour. POPPEY. Thou hast reason; ergo, say I, 'tis better be a king than a clown. Faith, Master Sylla, I hope a man may now call ye knave by authority. SYLLA. With what impatience hear I these upbraids, That whilom plagued the least offence with death. O Sylla, these are stales of destiny By some upbraids to try thy constancy. My friends, these scorns of yours perhaps may move The next dictator shun to yield his state, For fear he find as much as Sylla doth. But, Flaccus, to prevent their farther wrong, Vouchsafe some lictor may attach the man, And do them right that thus complain abuse. FLACCUS. Sirrah, go you and bring the soldier, That hath so loosely lean'd to lawless lust: We will have means sufficient, be assured, To cool his heat, and make the wanton chaste. CURTALL. We thank your mastership. Come, neighbour, let us jog. Faith, this news will set my daughter Dorothy agog. [_Exeunt cum Lictore_.