DASH. Sir. THROAT. Is that rejoinder done? DASH. Done, sir. THROAT. Have you drawn't at length, have you dash'd it out-- According to your name? DASH. Some sevenscore sheets. THROAT. Is the demurrer drawn 'twixt Snipe and Woodcock? And what do you say to Peacock's pitiful bill? DASH. I have drawn his answer negative to all. THROAT. Negative to all! The plaintiff says That William Goose was son to Thomas Goose; And will he swear the general bill is false? DASH. He will. THROAT. Then he forswears his father: 'tis well, Some of our clients will go prig[346] to hell Before ourselves. Has he paid all his fees? DASH. He left them all with me. THROAT. Then truss my points: And how think'st thou of law? DASH. Most reverently, Law is the world's great light: a second sun To this terrestrial globe: by which all things Have life and being, and without which Confusion and disorder soon would seize The general state of men: wars, outrages. The ulcerous deeds of peace it curbs and cures; It is the kingdom's eye, by which she sees The acts and thoughts of men. THROAT. The kingdom's eye! I tell thee, fool, it is the kingdom's nose, By which she smells out all these rich transgressors: Nor is't of flesh, but merely made of wax, And 'tis within the power of us lawyers To wrest this nose of wax which way we please: Or it may be, as thou say'st, an eye indeed; But if it be, 'tis (sure) a woman's eye, [_Knock within._ That's ever rolling. DASH. One knocks. THROAT. Go, see who 'tis-- Stay, my chair and gown; and then go see who knocks. Thus must I seem a lawyer, which am indeed But merely dregs and off scum of the law. Ay, _tricesimo primo Alberti Magni_, 'Tis very clear. BOUT. God save you, sir. THROAT. The place is very pregnant. Master Boutcher, Most hearty welcome, sir. BOUT. You ply this gear, You are no truant in the law, I see? THROAT. Faith, some hundred books in folio I have Turn'd over to better my own knowledge; But that is nothing for a studient.[347] BOUT. Or a stationer--they turn them over too, But not as you do, gentle Master Throat. And what? the law speaks profit, does it not? THROAT. Faith, some bad angels haunt us now and then; But what brought you hither? BOUT. Why, these small legs? THROAT. You are conceited, sir. BOUT. I am in law, But let that go, and tell me how you do: How does Will Small-shanks and his lovely bride? THROAT. In troth, you make me blush; I should have ask'd His health of you; but 'tis not yet too late. BOUT. Nay, good Sir Throat,[348] forbear your quillets[349] now. THROAT. By heaven, I deal most plain! I saw him not, Since last I took his mortgage.