_Countess._ Sirrah, go fetch him drink [_an attendant brings drink._] How likest thou this? _Slip._ Like it mistress! why this is quincy quarie, pepper de watchet, single goby, of all that ever I tasted. I'll prove in this ale, and toast the compass of the whole world. First, this is the earth; it ties in the middle a fair brown toast, a goodly country for hungry teeth to dwell upon; next this is the sea, a fair pool for a dry tongue to fish in; now come I, and seeing the world is naught, I divide it thus: and because the sea cannot stand without the earth, as Aristotle saith, I put them both into their first chaos, which is my belly, and so, mistress, you may see your ale is become a miracle. Further on Slipper again shows his readiness in dialogue-- _Sir Bartram._ Ho, fellow! stay and let me speak with thee. _Slip._ Fellow! friend thou dost abuse me: I am a gentleman. _Sir B._ A gentleman! how so? _Slip._ Why, I rub horses, Sir. _Sir B._ And what of that? _Slip._ O simple-witted! mark my reason. They that do good service in the commonweal are gentlemen, but such as rub horses do good service in the commonweal, _ergo_, tarbox, master courtier, a horse-keeper is a gentleman. _Sir B._ Here is over much wit in good earnest. But, sirrah, where is thy master? _Slip._ Neither above ground nor under ground; drawing out red into white, swallowing that down without chawing, which was never made without treading. _Sir B._ Why, where is he then? _Slip._ Why in his cellar, drinking a cup of neat and brisk claret in a bowl of silver. Oh, Sir, the wine runs trillill down his throat, which cost the poor vintner many a stamp before it was made. But I must hence, Sir, I have haste. Sir Bertram intimates that he wants his assistance, and will pay him. _Slip._ A good word, thou hast won me; this word is like a warm caudle to a cold stomach. _Sir B._ Sirrah, wilt thou for money and reward Convey me certain letters, out of hand, From out thy master's pocket? _Slip._ Will I, Sir? Why were it to rob my father, hang my mother, or any such like trifles, I am at your commandment, Sir. What will you give me, Sir? _Sir B._ A hundred pounds. _Slip._ I am your man; give me earnest. I am dead at a pocket, Sir; why I am a lifter, master, by occupation. _Sir B._ A lifter! what is that? Slip. Why, Sir, I can lift a pot as well as any man, and pick a purse as soon as any thief in the country. These humorous characters remind us a little of the slaves and parasites in Roman comedy, of whom, no doubt, Greene had read. His amusing fellows are free livers, and fond of wine like himself. In the "Looking-Glasse" above mentioned, Nineveh represents London, and a fast being proclaimed, we find Adam, a smith's journeyman, trying to evade it.