_Pac._ Be abstinent; shew not the corruption of thy generation: he that feeds, shall die, therefore, he that feeds not shall live. _Laz._ I; but how long shall he live? there's the question. _Pac._ As long as he can without feeding: did'st thou read of the miraculous Maid in _Flanders_? _Laz._ No, nor of any Maid else; for the miracle of Virgi[n]ity now-a-days ceases, e'r the Virgin can read Virginity? _Pac._ She that liv'd three years without any other sustenance, than the smell of a Rose. _Laz._ I heard of her _Signior_, but they say her guts shrunk all into Lute-strings, and her neather-parts cling'd together like a Serpents Tail, so that though she continued a woman still above the girdle, beneath yet she was monster. _Pac._ So are most women, believe it. _Laz._ Nay all women _Signior_, that can live only upon the smell of a Rose. _Pac._ No part of the History is fabulous. _Laz._ I think rather no part of the Fable is Historical: but for all this, Sir, my rebellious stomach will not let me be immortal: I will be as immortal, as mortal hunger will suffer: put me to a certain stint Sir, allow me but a red herring a day. _Pac. O' de dios_: wouldst thou be gluttonous in thy delicacies? _Laz._ He that eats nothing but a red herring a day, shall ne'r be broil'd for the devil's rasher: a Pilchard, _Signior_, a Surdiny, an Olive, that I may be a Philosopher first, and immortal after. _Pac._ Patience _Lazarillo_; let contemplation be thy food awhile: I say unto thee, one Pease was a Soldiers Provant a whole day, At the destruction of _Jerusalem_. _Enter_ Metaldi, _and_ Mendoza. _Laz._ I; and it were any where but at the destruction of a place, I'll be hang'd. _Met. Signior Pachieco Alasto_, my most ingenious Cobler of _Sevil_, the _bonos noxios_ to your Signiorie. _Pac. Signior Metaldi de Forgio_, my most famous Smith, and man of Mettle, I return your courtesie ten fold, and do humble my Bonnet beneath the Shooe-sole of your congie: the like to you _Signior Mendoza Pediculo de Vermim_, my most exquisite Hose-heeler. _Laz._ Here's a greeting betwixt a Cobler, a Smith, and a Botcher: they all belong to the foot, which makes them stand so much upon their Gentrie. _Mend. Signior Lazarillo._ _Laz._ Ah Signior see: nay, we are all _Signiors_ here in _Spain_, from the Jakes-farmer to the Grandee, or _Adelantado_: this Botcher looks as if he were Dough-bak'd, a little Butter now, and I could eat him like an Oaten-cake: his fathers diet was new Cheese and Onions when he got him: what a scallion-fac'd rascal 'tis! _Met._ But why _Signior Pachieco_, do you stand so much on the priority, and antiquity of your quality (as you call it) in comparison of ours? _Mend._ I; your reason for that.