_[1] Gen._ Marry, in any case keep me that evidence. _Enter Clown._ _Lap._ Here comes my Servant; Sir, _Galoshio_, Has not his name for nought, he will be trode upon: What says my Printer now? _Clow._ Here's your last Proof, Sir. You shall have perfect Books now in a twinkling. _Lap._ These marks are ugly. _Clow._ He says, Sir, they're proper: Blows should have marks, or else they are nothing worth. _La._ But why a Peel-crow here? _Clow._ I told 'em so Sir: A scare-crow had been better. _Lap._ How slave? look you, Sir, Did not I say, this _Whirrit_, and this _Bob_, Should be both _Pica Roman_. _Clow._ So said I, Sir, both _Picked Romans_, And he has made 'em _Welch_ Bills, Indeed I know not what to make on 'em. _Lap._ Hay-day; a _Souse_, _Italica_? _Clow._ Yes, that may hold, Sir, _Souse_ is a _bona roba_, so is _Flops_ too. _Lap._ But why stands _Bastinado_ so far off here? _Clow._ Alas, you must allow him room to lay about him, Sir. _La._ Why lies this _Spurn lower_ than that _Spurn_, Sir? _Clow._ Marry, this signifies one kick[t] down stairs, Sir, The other in a Gallery: I asked him all these questions. _1 Gent._ Your Books name? Prethee _Lapet_ mind me, you never told me yet. _La._ Marry but shall Sir: 'tis call'd the Uprising of the _kick_; And the downfall of the _Duello_. _1 Gent._ Bring that to pass, you'll prove a happy member, And do your Countrey service: your young blouds Will thank you then, why they see fourscore. _Lap._ I hope To save my hundred Gentlemen a month by't, Which will be very good for the private house. _Clow._ Look you, your Table's finish'd, Sir, already. _Lap._ Why then behold my Master-piece: see, see, Sir, Here's all your Blows, and Blow-men whatsoever; Set in their lively colours, givers, and takers. _1 Gent._ Troth wondrous fine, Sir. _Lap._ Nay, but mark the postures, The standing of the takers, I admire more than the givers; They stand scornfully, most contumeliously, I like not them, Oh here's one cast into a comely Figure. _Clow._ My Master means him there that's cast down headlong. _Lap._ How sweetly does this fellow take his _Dowst_! Stoops like a _Cammel_, that Heroick beast, At a great load of Nutmegs; and how meekly This other fellow here receives his _Whirrit_! _Clow._ Oh Master, here's a fellow stands most gallantly, Taking his _kick_ in private, behind the hangings, And raising up his hips to't. But oh, Sir, How daintily this man lies trampled on! Would I were in thy place, what e'er thou art: How lovely he endures it! _1 Gent._ But will not these things, Sir, be hard to practice, think you? _Lap._ Oh, easie, Sir: I'll teach 'em in a Dance. _1 Gent._ How? in a dance?