|420| _Hor._ I thinke but what they are, and am not moou’d. The one a light voluptuous Reueler, The other, a strange arrogating puffe, Both impudent, and arrogant enough. _Asin._ S’lid do not Criticus Reuel in these lynes, ha Ningle ha? |425| _Knocking._ _Hor._ Yes, they’re mine owne. _Cris._ Horrace. _Dem._ Flaccus. _Cris._ Horrace, not vp yet. |430| _Hor._ Peace, tread softly, hyde my Papers; who’s this so early? Some of my rookes, some of my guls? _Cris._ Horrace, Flaccus. _Hor._ Who’s there? stray, treade softly: _Wat Terill_ on my life: who’s there? my gowne sweete roague, so, come vp, come in. |435| _Enter_ Crispinus _and_ Demetrius. _Cris._ God morrow Horrace. _Hor._ O, God saue you gallants. _Cris._ _Asinius_ Bubo well met. _Asin._ Nay, I hope so Crispinus, yet I was sicke a quarter of a |440| yeare a goe of a vehement great tooth-atch: a pox ont, it bit me vilye, as God sa me la I knew twas you by your knocking so soone as I saw you; Demetrius Fannius, wil you take a whiffe this morning? I haue tickling geare now, heer’s that will play with your nose, and a pype of mine owne scowring too. |445| _Dem._ I, and a Hodgshead too of your owne, but that will neuer be scowred cleane I feare. _Asin._ I burnt my pype yesternight, and twas neuer vsde since, if you will tis at your seruice gallants, and Tobacco too, tis right pudding I can tell you; a Lady or two, tooke a pype full or two |450| at my hands, and praizde it for the Heauens, shall I fill Flannius? _Dem._ I thanke you good Asinius for your loue, I sildome take that Phisicke, tis enough Hauing so much foole to take him in snuffe. |455| _Hor._ Good Bubo read some booke, and giue vs leaue.... _As._ Leaue haue you deare Ningle, marry for reading any book Ile take my death vpont (as my Ningle sayes) tis out of my Elemēt: no faith, euer since I felt one hit me ith teeth that the greatest Clarkes are not the wisest men, could I abide to goe to |460| Schoole, I was at _As in presenti_ and left there: yet because Ile not be counted a worse foole then I am, Ile turne ouer a new leafe. Asinius _reads and takes Tabacco_. _Hor._ To see my fate, that when I dip my pen In distilde Roses, and doe striue to dreine, |465| Out of myne Inke all gall; that when I wey Each sillable I write or speake, because Mine enemies with sharpe and searching eyes Looke through & through me, caruing my poore labours Like an Anotomy: Oh heauens to see, |470| That when my lines are measur’d out as straight As euen Paralels, tis strange that still, Still some imagine they are drawne awry. The error is not mine, but in theyr eye, That cannot take proportions.