Said, that I thought Calepine's Dictionary. Nay, but of men? Most sweet Sir! Beza, then Some Jesuits, and two reverend men Of our two academies, I nam'd. Here He stopt me, and said; Nay, your apostles were Good pretty linguists; so Panurgus was, Yet a poor gentleman; all these may pass By travel. Then, as if he would have sold His tongue, he prais'd it, and such wonders told, That I was fain to say, If you had liv'd, Sir, Time enough to have been interpreter To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood. He adds, If of court-life you knew the good, You would leave loneness. I said, Not alone My loneness is, but Spartan's fashion, To teach by painting drunkards, doth not last Now; Aretine's pictures have made few chaste; No more can princes' courts, though there be few Better pictures of vice, teach me virtue. He, like to a high-stretch'd lute-string, squeakt, O, Sir! 'Tis sweet to talk of kings! At Westminster, Said I, the man that keeps the Abbey-tombs, And for his price doth, with who ever comes, Of all our Harrys and our Edwards talk, From king to king, and all their kin can walk: Your ears shall hear naught but kings; your eyes meet Kings only; the way to it is King's street. He smack'd, and cry'd, He's base, mechanic coarse; So're all our Englishmen in their discourse. Are not your Frenchmen neat? Mine, eyes you see, I have but one, Sir; look, he follows me. Certes, they're neatly cloth'd. I of this mind am, Your only wearing is your grogaram. Not so, Sir; I have more. Under this pitch He would not fly. I chaf'd him; but as itch Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground Into an edge, hurts worse; so I (fool!) found Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness, He to another key his style doth dress, And asks, What news? I tell him of new plays: He takes my hand, and, as a still which stays A semibrief 'twixt each drop, he niggardly As loth to enrich me, so tells many a lie, More than ten Hollensheads, or Halls, or Stows, Of trivial household trash he knows. He knows When the queen frown'd or smil'd; and he knows what A subtile statesman may gather of that: He knows who loves whom, and who by poison Hastes to an office's reversion; He knows who hath sold his land, and now doth beg A license old iron, boots, shoes, and egg- Shells to transport. Shortly boys shall not play At span-counter, or blow-point, but shall play Toll to some courtier; and, wiser than us all, He knows what lady is not painted. Thus He with home-meats cloys me. I belch, spue, spit, Look pale and sickly, like a patient, yet He thrusts on more; and as he had undertook To say Gallo-Belgicus without book, Speaks of all states and deeds that have been since The Spaniards came to th' loss of Amyens. Like a big wife, at sight of loathed meat, Ready to travail, so I sigh and sweat To hear this makaron[165] talk in vain; for yet,