_Chi._ Very fine Fool, and fine Boy, Peace playes with you, As the wind playes with Feathers, dances ye, You grind with all gusts, gallants. _Page._ We can bounce Sir, When you Soldados bend i'th' hams, and frisk too. _Fool._ When twenty of your trip-coats turn their tippets, And your cold sallets without salt or vineger Be wambling in your stomachs; hemp and hobnails Will bear no price now, hangings and old harness Are like to over-run us. _Pa._ Whores and hot houses. _Fool._ Surgeons and Syringes ring out your sance-bells. _Page._ Your Jubile, your Jubile. _Fool._ _Prob Deum._ How our St. _Georges_ will bestride the Dragons, The red and ramping Dragons. _Page._ Advanc't fool-- _Fool._ But then the sting i'th' tail boy. _Page._ _Tanto Melior._ For so much the more danger, the more honour. _Chi._ You're very pleasant with our occupation Gent. Which very like amongst these fierie Serpents May light upon a Blind-worm of your blood, A Mother or a Sister. _Fool._ Mine's past saddle, You should be sure of her else: but say Sir _Huon_, Now the Drums dubbs, and the sticks turn'd bed-staves, All the old Foxes hunted to their holes, The Iron age return'd to _Erebus_, And _Honorificabilitudinitatibus_ Thrust out o'th' Kingdom by the head and shoulders, What trade do you mean to follow? _Chi._ That's a question. _Fool._ Yes and a learned question if ye mark it, Consider and say on. _Chi._ Fooling as thou dost, that's the best trade I take it. _Fool._ Take it straight then For fear your fellows be before ye, hark ye Lieutenant Fooling's the thing, the thing worth all your fightings, When all's done ye must fool Sir. _Chi._ Well, I must then. _Fool._ But do you know what fooling is? true fooling, The circumstances that belong unto it? For every idle knave that showes his teeth, Wants and would live, can juggle, tumble, fiddle, Make a dog face, or can abuse his fellow, Is not a fool at first dash; you shall find Sir Strange turnings in this trade; to fool is nothing As fooling has been, but to fool the fair way, The new way, as the best men fool their friends, For all men get by fooling, meerly fooling, Desert does nothing, valiant, wise, vertuous, Are things that walk by without bread or breeches. _Chi._ I partly credit that. _Fool._ Fine wits, fine wits Sir, There's the young Boy, he does well in his way too, He could not live else in his Masters absence; He tyes a Ladyes garters so, so prettily, Say his hand slip, but say so. _Chi._ Why let it slip then. _Fool._ 'Tis ten to one the body shall come after, And he that works deserves his wages. _Chi._ That's true.