_Patteson_, with one of _Argus's_ cast Feathers in his Hand, is at this Moment beneath my Lattice, astride on a Stone Balustrade; while _Bessy_, whom he much affects, is sitting on the Steps, feeding her Peacocks. Sayth _Patteson_, "Canst tell me, Mistress, why Peacocks have soe manie Eyes in theire Tails, and yet can onlie see with two in theire Heads?" "Because those two make them soe vain alreadie, Fool," says _Bess_, "that were they always beholding theire owne Glory, they woulde be intolerable." "And besides that," says _Patteson_, "the less we see or heare, either, of what passes behind our Backs, the better for us, since Knaves will make Mouths at us then, for as glorious as we may be. Canst tell me, Mistress, why the Peacock was the last Bird that went into the Ark?" "First tell me, Fool," returns _Bess_, "how thou knowest that it was soe?" "Nay, a Fool may ask a Question would puzzle a Wiseard to answer," rejoyns _Patteson_; "I mighte ask you, for example, where they got theire fresh Kitchen-stuff in the Ark, or whether the Birds ate other than Grains, or the wild Beasts other than Flesh. It needs must have been a Granary." "We ne'er shew ourselves such Fools," says _Bess_, "as in seeking to know more than is written. They had enough, if none to spare, and we scarce can tell how little is enough for bare Sustenance in a State of perfect Inaction. If the Creatures were kept low, they were all the less fierce." "Well answered, Mistress," says _Patteson_, "but tell me, why do you wear two Crosses?" "Nay, Fool," returns _Bess_, "I wear but one." "Oh, but I say you wear two," says _Patteson_, "one at your Girdle, and one that nobody sees. We alle wear the unseen one, you know. Some have theirs of Gold, alle carven and shaped, soe as you hardlie tell it for a Cross ... like my Lord Cardinall, for Instance ... but it is one, for alle that. And others, of Iron, that eateth into their Hearts ... methinketh Master _Roper's_ must be one of 'em. For me, I'm content with one of Wood, like that our deare LORD bore; what was goode enow for him is goode enow for me, and I've noe Temptation to shew it, as it isn't fine, nor yet to chafe at it for being rougher than my Neighbour's, nor yet to make myself a second because it is not hard enow. Doe you take me, Mistress?" "I take you for what you are," says _Bess_, "a poor Fool." "Nay, Niece," says _Patteson_, "my Brother your Father hath made me rich." "I mean," says _Bess_, "you have more Wisdom than Witt, and a real Fool has neither, therefore you are only a make-believe Fool." "Well, there are many make-believe Sages," says _Patteson_; "for mine owne Part, I never aim to be thoughte a _Hiccius Doccius_." "A _hic est doctus_, Fool, you mean," interrupts _Bess_.