RHYME. Pray y', good sir, reconcile them. If that same Justice be i' th' ordinary now, He'll bind them to the peace for troubling him. BAG. Why should he not, good sir? It is his office. AND. Now 'tis o' this side: O, for a pair of cudgels! RHYME. Peace, inkhorn; there's no music in thy tongue. CATCH. Thou and thy rhyme lie both: the tongue of man Is born to music naturally. RHYME. Thou thing, Thy belly looks like to some strutting hill, O'ershadow'd with thy rough beard like a wood. CHRIS. Or like a larger jug, that some men call A Bellarmine, but we a Conscience; Whereon the lewder hand of pagan workman Over the proud ambitious head hath carv'd An idol large with beard episcopal, Making the vessel look like tyrant Eglon. CATCH. Profane again, Sir Christopher, I take it. CHRIS. Must I be strong again? Thou human beast, Who'rt only eloquent when thou say'st nothing, And appear'st handsome while thou hid'st thyself, I'm holy, 'cause profane. AND. Courageous rascals! Brave spirits! soldiers in their days, I warrant! BAG. Born in the field, I do assure your worship. This quarrelling is meat and drink to them. RHYME. Thou liest. BAG. Nay, then I do defy thee thus. [BAGSHOT _draws his inkhorn, and_ RHYMEWELL _catcheth off_ SIR CHRISTOPHER'S _hat and_ _spectacles_. RHYME. And thus I am prepar'd to answer thee. CHRIS. For the good saint's sake, part them: I am blind, If that my spectacles should once miscarry. RHYME. Caitiff, this holy instrument shall quail thee. BAG. And this shall send thee to thy cousin furies. CHRIS. I feel a film come o'er mine eyes already: I must look out an animal conductive-- I mean a dog. AND. Pray y', beat not out his eyes in Another's hands. CHRIS. Most strongly urg'd! CATCH. Your words Are merely wind. James, ho! what, James, some beer. They're mastiff dogs; they wont be parted, sir, Without good store of liquor. _Enter_ SERVANT, _with beer_. AND. I will souse them: SER. Drink to 'em, sir, if that you'll have 'em quiet. AND. Is that the way? Here's to you, my friends, a whole one. BAG. Were't not for that good gentleman, thou'dst smoke for't. RHYME. Had I not vow'd some reverence to his presence, Thou hadst been nothing. BAG. 'Fore Mars, I was dry. This valour's thirsty: fill to my antagonist.