|595| _Blun._ Nay prethee deare Tucca, come you shall shake-- _Tuc._ Not hands with great Hunkes there, not hands, but Ile shake the gull-groper out of his tan’d skinne. _Crisp. & Deme._ For our sake Captaine, nay prethee holde. _Tuc._ Thou wrongst heere a good honest rascall Crispinus, and |600| a poore varlet Demetrius Fanninus (bretheren in thine owne trade of Poetry) thou sayst Crispinus Sattin dublet is Reauel’d out heere, and that this penurious sneaker is out at elboes, goe two my good full-mouth’d ban-dog, Ile ha thee friends with both. _Hor._ With all my heart captaine Tucca, and with you too, Ile |605| laye my handes vnder your feete, to keepe them from aking. _Omnes._ Can you haue any more? _Tuc._ Saist thou me so, olde Coale? come doo’t then; yet tis no matter neither, Ile haue thee in league first with these two rowly powlies: they shal be thy Damons and thou their Pithyasse; |610| Crispinus shall giue thee an olde cast Sattin suite, and Demetrius shall write thee a Scene or two, in one of thy strong garlicke Comedies; and thou shalt take the guilt of conscience for’t, and sweare tis thine owne olde lad, tis thine owne: thou neuer yet fels’t into the hands of sattin, didst? |615| _Hor._ Neuer Captaine I thanke God. _Tuc._ Goe too, thou shalt now King Gorboduck, thou shalt, because Ile ha thee damn’d, Ile ha thee all in Sattin: Asper, Criticus, Quintus, Horatius, Flaccus, Crispinus shal doo’t, thou shalt doo’t, heyre apparant of Helicon, thou shalt doo’t. |620| _Asi._ Mine Ingle weare an olde cast Sattin suite? _Tuc._ I wafer-face your Ningle. _Asi._ If he carry the minde of a Gentleman, he’ll scorne it at’s heeles. _Tuc._ Mary muffe, my man a ginger-bread, wilt eate any small |625| coale? _Asi._ No Captaine, wod you should well know it, great coale shall not fill my bellie. _Tuc._ Scorne it, dost scorne to be arrested at one of his olde Suites? |630| _Hor._ No Captaine, Ile weare any thing. _Tuc._ I know thou wilt, I know th’art an honest low minded Pigmey, for I ha seene thy shoulders lapt in a Plaiers old cast Cloake, like a Slie knaue as thou art: and when thou ranst mad for the death of Horatio: thou borrowedst a gowne of Roscius |635| the Stager, (that honest Nicodemus) and sentst it home lowsie, didst not? _Responde_, didst not? _Blun._ So, so, no more of this, within this houre-- _Hor._ If I can sound retreate to my wits, with whome this leader is in skirmish, Ile end within this houre. |640| _Tuc._ What wut end? wut hang thy selfe now? has he not writ Finis yet Iacke? what will he bee fifteene weekes about this Cockatrices egge too? has hee not cackeld yet? not laide yet? _Blunt._ Not yet, hee sweares hee will within this houre.