Good pretty linguists, and so Panurge was; Yet a poore gentleman, all these may passe 60 By travaile. Then, as if he would have sold His tongue, he prais'd it, and such wonders told That I was faine to say, If you'had liv'd, Sir, Time enough to have beene Interpreter To Babells bricklayers, sure the Tower had stood. 65 He adds, If of court life you knew the good, You would leave lonenesse. I said, not alone My lonenesse is, but Spartanes fashion, To teach by painting drunkards, doth not last Now; Aretines pictures have made few chast; 70 No more can Princes courts, though there be few Better pictures of vice, teach me vertue; He, like to a high stretcht lute string squeakt, O Sir, 'Tis sweet to talke of Kings. At Westminster, Said I, The man that keepes the Abbey tombes, 75 And for his price doth with who ever comes, Of all our Harries, and our Edwards talke, From King to King and all their kin can walke: Your eares shall heare nought, but Kings; your eyes meet Kings only; The way to it, is Kingstreet. 80 He smack'd, and cry'd, He's base, Mechanique, coarse, So are all your Englishmen in their discourse. Are not your Frenchmen neate? Mine? as you see, I have but one Frenchman, looke, hee followes mee. Certes they are neatly cloth'd; I, of this minde am, 85 Your only wearing is your Grogaram. Not so Sir, I have more. Under this pitch He would not flie; I chaff'd him; But as Itch Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground Into an edge, hurts worse: So, I (foole) found, 90 Crossing hurt mee; To fit my sullennesse, He to another key, his stile doth addresse, And askes, what newes? I tell him of new playes. He takes my hand, and as a Still, which staies A Sembriefe, 'twixt each drop, he nigardly, 95 As loth to enrich mee, so tells many a lye. More then ten Hollensheads, or Halls, or Stowes, Of triviall houshold trash he knowes; He knowes When the Queene frown'd, or smil'd, and he knowes what A subtle States-man may gather of that; 100 He knowes who loves; whom; and who by poyson Hasts to an Offices reversion; He knowes who'hath sold his land, and now doth beg A licence, old iron, bootes, shooes, and egge- shels to transport; Shortly boyes shall not play 105 At span-counter, or blow-point, but they pay Toll to some Courtier; And wiser then all us, He knowes what Ladie is not painted; Thus He with home-meats tries me; I belch, spue, spit, Looke pale, and sickly, like a Patient; Yet 110 He thrusts on more; And as if he'd undertooke To say Gallo-Belgicus without booke Speakes of all States, and deeds, that have been since The Spaniards came, to the losse of Amyens.