|370| _Asi._ Shall I? fayth Ningle, shall I see thy secrets? _Hor._ Puh my friends. _Asi._ But what fardle’s that? what fardle’s that? _Hor._ Fardle, away, tis my packet; heere lyes intoomb’d the loues of Knights and Earles, heere tis, heere tis, heere tis, Sir |375| Walter Terils letter to me, and my answere to him: I no sooner opened his letter, but there appeared to me three glorious Angels, whome I ador’d as subiectes doe their Soueraignes: the honest knight Angles for my acquaintance, with such golden baites-- but why doost laugh my good roague? how is my answere, prethee, |380| how, how? _Asi._ Answere, as God iudge me Ningle, for thy wit thou mayst answer any Iustice of peace in England I warrant; thou writ’st in a most goodly big hand too, I like that, & readst as leageably as some that haue bin sau’d by their neck-verse. |385| _Hor._ But how dost like the Knights inditing? _Asi._ If I haue any iudgement; a pox ont, heer’s worshipfull lynes indeed, heer’s stuffe: but sirra Ningle, of what fashion is this knights wit, of what blocke? _Hor._ Why you see; wel, wel, an ordinary Ingenuity, a good |390| wit for a knight, you know how, before God I am haunted with some the most pittyfull dry gallants. _Asini._ Troth so I think; good peeces of lantskip, shew best a far off. _Hor._ I, I, I, excellent sumpter horses, carry good cloaths; but |395| honest roague, come, what news, what newes abroad? I haue heard a the horses walking a’ th top of Paules. _Asi._ Ha ye? why the Captain Tucca rayles vpon you most preposterously behinde your backe, did you not heare him? _Ho._ A pox vpon him: by the white & soft hand of _Minerua_, Ile |400| make him the most ridiculous: dam me if I bring not’s humor ath stage: &--scuruy lymping tongu’d captaine, poor greasie buffe Ierkin, hang him: tis out of his Element to traduce me: I am too well ranckt _Asinius_ to bee stab’d with his dudgion wit: sirra, Ile compose an Epigram vpon him, shall goe thus-- |405| _Asi._ Nay I ha more news, ther’s Crispinus & his Iorneyman Poet Demetrius Faninus too, they sweare they’ll bring your life & death vpon’th stage like a Bricklayer in a play. _Hor._ Bubo they must presse more valiant wits than theyr own to do it: me ath stage? ha, ha. Ile starue their poore copper-lace |410| workmasters, that dare play me: I can bring (& that they quake at) a prepar’d troope of gallants, who for my sake shal distaste euery vnsalted line, in their fly-blowne Comedies. _Asi._ Nay that’s certaine, ile bring 100. gallants of my ranke. _Hor._ That same Crispinus is the silliest Dor, and Faninus the |415| slightest cob-web-lawne peece of a Poet, oh God! Why should I care what euery Dor doth buz In credulous eares, it is a crowne to me, That the best iudgements can report me wrong’d. _Asi._ I am one of them that can report it.