MEN. Ramparts of pasty-crust and forts of pies,
Entrench’d with dishes full of custard stuff,
Hath Gustus made, and planted ordinance—
Strange ordinance, cannons of hollow canes,
Whose powder’s rape-seed, charg’d with turnip-shot.
MEM. I remember, in the country of Utopia they use no other kind of artillery.
COM. SEN. But what’s become of Olfactus?
MEN. He politicly leans to neither part,
But stands betwixt the camps as at receipt,
Having great swine his pioneers to entrench them.
PHA. In my foolish imagination Olfactus is very
like the Goddess of
Victory, that never takes any part but the conqueror’s.
MEN. And in the woods be placed secretly
Two hundred couple of hounds and hungry mastiffs;
And o’er his head hover at his command
A cloud of vultures, which o’erspread the light,
Making a night before the day be done:
But to what end not known, but fear’d of all.
PHA. I conjecture he intends to see them fight, and after the battle to feed his dogs, hogs, and vultures upon the murdered carcases.
MEN. My lord, I think the fury of their anger will not be obedient to the message of Lingua; for otherwise, in my conceit, they should have been here ere this. With your lordship’s good liking, we’ll attend upon you to see the field for more certainty.
COM. SEN. It shall be so; come, Master Register, let’s walk.
ACTUS TERTIUS, SCAENA PRIMA.
ANAMNESTES, with a purse in his hand.
ANA. Forsooth, Oblivio, shut the door upon me; I could come no sooner: ha! is he not here? O excellent! would I were hanged, but I looked for a sound rap on the pate, and that made me beforehand to lift up this excuse for a buckler. I know he’s not at court, for here is his purse, without which warrant there’s no coming thither; wherefore now, Anamnestes, sport thyself a little, while thou art out of the prison of his company. What shall I do? by my troth, anatomise his purse in his absence. Plutus send there be jewels in it, that I may finely geld it of the stones—the best, sure, lies in the bottom; pox on’t, here’s nothing but a company of worm-eaten papers: what’s this? Memorandum that Master Prodigo owes me four thousand pounds, and that his lands are in pawn for it. Memorandum that I owe. That he owes? ’Tis well the old slave hath some care of his credit; to whom owes he, trow I? that I owe Anamnestes; what, me? I never lent him anything; ha, this is good, there’s something coming to me more than I looked for. Come on; what is’t? Memorandum that I owe Anamnestes------a breeching; i’faith, sir, I will ease you of that payment. [He rends the bill.] Memorandum that, when I was a child, Robusto tripped up my heels at football: what a revengeful dizard is this?