_Whilst this Paradox is in speaking_, Tucca _Enters with_ Sir Vaughan _at one doore, and secretly placeth him: then Exit and brings in_ Horace _muffled, placing him:_ Tucca _sits among them._ _Tuc._ Th’art within a haire of it, my sweete _Wit whether wilt thou_? |1870| my delicate Poeticall Furie, th’ ast hit it to a haire. Sir Vaughan _steps out_. _Sir Vau._ By your fauour Master Tucky, his balde reasons are wide aboue two hayres, I besees you pardon mee Ladies, that I thrust in so malepartly among you, for I did but mych heere, |1875| and see how this cruell Poet did handle bald heades. _Sir Ad._ He gaue them but their due Sir Vaughan; Widdow did he not? _Mini._ By my faith he made more of a balde head, than euer I shall be able: he gaue them their due truely. |1880| _Sir Vaugh._ Nay vds bloud, their due is to bee a the right haire as I am, and that was not in his fingers to giue, but in God a Mighties: Well, I will hyre that humorous and fantasticall Poet Master Horace, to breake your balde pate Sir Adam. _Sir Ada._ Breake my balde pate? |1885| _Tuc._ Dost heare my worshipfull block-head? _Sir Vaug._ Patience Captaine Tucky, let me absolue him; I meane he shal pricke, pricke your head or sconce a little with his goose-quils, for he shal make another Thalimum, or crosse-stickes, or some Polinoddyes, with a fewe Nappy-grams in them, |1890| that shall lift vp haire, and set it an end, with his learned and harty commendations. _Hor._ This is excellent, all will come out now. _Dica._ That same Horace me thinkes has the most vngodly face, by my Fan; it lookes for all the world, like a rotten russet |1895| Apple, when tis bruiz’d: Its better then a spoonefull of Sinamon water next my heart, for me to heare him speake; hee soundes it so i’ th nose, and talkes and randes for all the world, like the poore fellow vnder Ludgate: oh fye vpon him. _Min._ By my troth sweet Ladies, it’s Cake and pudding to me, |1900| to see his face make faces, when hee reades his Songs and Sonnets. _Hor._ Ile face some of you for this, when you shall not budge. _Tuc._ Its the stinckingst dung-farmer--foh vpon him. _Sir Vau._ Foh? oundes you make him vrse than olde herring: foh? by Sesu I thinke he’s as tidy, and as tall a Poet as euer |1905| drew out a long verse. _Tuc._ The best verse that euer I knew him hacke out, was his white necke-verse: noble Ap Rees thou wouldst scorne to laye thy lippes to his commendations, and thou smeldst him out as I doe, hee calles thee the burning Knight of the Salamander. |1910| _Sir Vaugh._ Right, Peter is my Salamander; what of him? but Peter is neuer burnt: howe now? so, goe too now. _Tucca._ And sayes because thou Clipst the Kinges English. _Sir Vaughan._ Oundes mee? that’s treason: clip? horrible treasons, Sesu holde my handes; clip? he baites mouse-trappes for |1915| my life.