|910| _Ter._ I dare and will by that ioynt holy oath, Which she and I swore to the booke of heauen. This very day when the surueying Sunne, Riz like a witnes to her faith and mine, By all the loyalty that subiects owe |915| To Maiesty, by that, by this, by both, I sweare to make a double guarded oath, This night vntainted by the touch of man, She shall a Virgin come. _Kin._ To Court? _Ter._ To Court. |920| I know I tooke a woman to my wife, And I know women to be earthly Moones, That neuer shine till night, I know they change Their Orbes (their husbands) and in sickish hearts, Steale to their sweete Endimions, to be cur’d |925| With better Phisicke, sweeter dyet drinkes, Then home can minister: all this I know Yet know not all, but giue me leaue O King, To boast of mine, and saie that I know none; I haue a woman but not such a one. |930| _Kin._ Why, she’s confirmed in thee; I now approoue her, If constant in thy thoughts who then can mooue her? _Enter_ Sir Quintilian. _Sir qui._ Wilt please your Highnes take your place within, The Ladies attend the Table. |935| _Kin._ I goe good Knight; Wat thy oath. _Ter._ My Lord, My oath’s my honour, my honour is my life, My oath is constant, so I hope my wife. _Exeunt._ _Enter_ Horace _in his true attyre_, Asinius _bearing his Cloake_. |940| _Asi._ If you flye out Ningle, heer’s your Cloake; I thinke it raines too. _Ho._ Hide my shoulders in’t. _Asi._ Troth so th’adst neede, for now thou art in thy Pee and Kue; thou hast such a villanous broad backe, that I warrant |945| th’art able to beare away any mans iestes in England. _Hor._ It’s well Sir, I ha strength to beare yours mee thinkes; fore God you are growne a piece of a Critist, since you fell into my hands: ah little roague, your wit has pickt vp her crums prettie and well. |950| _Asi._ Yes faith, I finde my wit a the mending hand Ningle; troth I doe not thinke but to proceede Poetaster next Commencement, if I haue my grace perfectlie: euerie one that confer with me now, stop their nose in merriment, and sweare I smell somewhat of Horace; one calles me Horaces Ape, another |955| Horaces Beagle, and such Poeticall names it passes. I was but at Barbers last day, and when he was rencing my face, did but crie out, fellow thou makst me _Conniue_ too long, & sayes he, Master _Asinius Bubo_, you haue eene Horaces wordes as right as if he had spit them into your mouth. |960| _Hor._ Well, away deare Asinius, deliuer this letter to the young Gallant _Druso_, he that fell so strongly in loue with mee yesternight. _Asin._ It’s a sweete Muske-cod, a pure spic’d-gull; by this feather I pittie his _Ingenuities_; but hast writ all this since Ningle? I know |965| thou hast a good running head and thou listest.