_Tuc._ His wittes are somewhat hard bound: the Puncke his |645| Muse has sore labour ere the whoore bee deliuered: the poore saffron-cheeke Sun-burnt Gipsie wantes Phisicke; giue the hungrie-face pudding-pye-eater ten Pilles: ten shillings my faire Angelica, they’l make his Muse as yare as a tumbler. _Blu._ He shall not want for money if heele write. |650| _Tuc._ Goe by Ieronimo, goe by; and heere, drop the ten shillings into this Bason; doe, drop, when Iacke? hee shall call me his Mæcenas: besides, Ile dam vp’s Ouen-mouth for rayling at’s: So, ist right Iacke? ist sterling? fall off now to the vanward of yonder foure Stinkers, and aske alowde if wee shall goe? the |655| Knight shall defray Iacke, the Knight when it comes to _Summa totalis_, the Knyght, the Knight.-- _Blu._ Well Gentlemen, we’ll leaue you, shall we goe Captaine? good Horrace make some hast. _Hor._ Ile put on wings. |660| _Asin._ I neuer sawe mine Ingle so dasht in my life before. _Cris._ Yes once Asinius. _Asi._ Mas you say true, hee was dasht worse once going (in a rainy day) with a speech to’th Tilt-yard, by Gods lyd has call’d him names, a dog would not put vp, that had any discreation. |665| _Tuc._ Holde, holde vp thy hand, I ha seene the day thou didst not scorne to holde vp thy golles: ther’s a Souldiers Spur-royall, twelue pence: Stay, because I know thou canst not write without quick-siluer; vp agen, this goll agen, I giue thee double presse-money: Stay, because I know thou hast a noble head, ile deuide |670| my Crowne, ô royall Porrex, ther’s a teston more; goe, thou and thy Muse munch, doe, munch; come my deare Mandrake, if Skeldring fall not to decay, thou shalt florish: farewell my sweet _Amadis de Gaule_, farewell. _Hor._ Deare Captaine. |675| _Tuc._ Come Iacke. _Dem._ Nay Captaine stay, we are of your band. _Tuc._ March faire then. _Cri._ Horace farewell, adue Asinius. _Exeunt._ _Asi._ Ningle lets goe to some Tauerne, and dine together, for |680| my stomache rises at this scuruy leather Captaine. _Hor._ No, they haue choakt me with mine owne disgrace, Which (fooles) ile spit againe euen in your face. _Exeunt._ _Enter_ Sir Quintilian Shorthose, Sir Adam, Sir Vaughan, Mineuer _with seruingmen_. |685| _Sir quinti._ Knaues, Varlets, what Lungis, giue me a dozen of stooles there. _Sir Vau._ Sesu plesse vs all in our fiue sences a peece, what meane yee sir Kintilian Sorthose to stand so much on a dozen stooles, heere be not preeches inuffe to hyde a dozen stooles, |690| vnlesse you wisse some of vs preake his sinnes. _Sir quin._ I say sir Vaughan no shinne shal be broken heer; what lungis, a chayre with a stronge backe, and a soft bellie, great with childe, with a cushion for this reuerend Lady.