FAST. 'Sheart, what a damn'd witty rogue's this! How he confounds with his similes! CAR. Better with similes than smiles: and whither were you riding now, signior? FAST. Who, I? What a silly jest's that! Whither should I ride but to the court? CAR. O, pardon me, sir, twenty places more; your hot-house, or your whore-house -- FAST. By the virtue of my soul, this knight dwells in Elysium here. CAR. He's gone now, I thought he would fly out presently. These be our nimble-spirited catsos, that have their evasions at pleasure, will run over a bog like your wild Irish; no sooner started, but they'll leap from one thing to another, like a squirrel, heigh! dance and do tricks in their discourse, from fire to water, from water to air, from air to earth, as if their tongues did but e'en lick the four elements over, and away. FAST. Sirrah, Carlo, thou never saw'st my gray hobby yet, didst thou? CAR. No; have you such a one? FAST. The best in Europe, my good villain, thou'lt say when thou seest him. CAR. But when shall I see him? FAST. There was a nobleman in the court offered me a hundred pound for him, by this light: a fine little fiery slave, he runs like a -- oh, excellent, excellent! -- with the very sound of the spur. CAR. How! the sound of the spur? FAST. O, it's your only humour now extant, sir; a good gingle, a good gingle. CAR. S'blood! you shall see him turn morrice-dancer, he has got him bells, a good suit, and a hobby-horse. SIG. Signior, now you talk of a hobby-horse, I know where one is will not be given for a brace of angels. FAST. How is that, sir? SOG. Marry, sir, I am telling this gentleman of a hobby-horse; it was my father's indeed, and though I say it -- CAR. That should not say it -- on, on. SOG. He did dance in it, with as good humour and as good regard as any man of his degree whatsoever, being no gentleman: I have danc'd in it myself too. CAR. Not since the humour of gentility was upon you, did you? SOG. Yes, once; marry, that was but to shew what a gentleman might do in a humour. CAR. O, very good. MIT. Why, this fellow's discourse were nothing but for the word humour. COR. O bear with him; an he should lack matter and words too, 'twere pitiful. SOG. Nay, look you, sir, there's ne'er a gentleman in the country has the like humours, for the hobby-horse, as I have; I have the method for the threading of the needle and all, the -- CAR. How, the method? SOG. Ay, the leigerity for that, and the whighhie, and the daggers in the nose, and the travels of the egg from finger to finger, and all the humours incident to the quality. The horse hangs at home in my parlour. I'll keep it for a monument as long as I live, sure. CAR. Do so; and when you die, 'twill be an excellent trophy to hang over your tomb.