Tuc.  No, you mangonising slave, I will not part from them; you’ll sell them for enghles, you:  let’s have good cheer tomorrow night at supper, stalker, and then we’ll talk; good capon and plover, do you hear, sirrah? and do not bring your eating player with you there; I cannot away with him:  he will eat a leg of mutton while I am in my porridge, the lean Polyphagus, his belly is like Barathrum; he looks like a midwife in man’s apparel, the slave:  nor the villanous out-of-tune fiddler, AEnobarbus, bring not him.  What hast thou there? six and thirty, ha?

Hist.  No, here’s all I have, captain, some five and twenty:  pray, sir, will you present and accommodate it unto the gentleman? for mine own part, I am a mere stranger to his humour; besides, I have some business invites me hence, with master Asinius Lupus, the tribune.

Tuc.  Well, go thy ways, pursue thy projects, let me alone with this design; my Poetaster shall make thee a play, and thou shalt be a man of good parts in it.  But stay, let me see; do not bring your AEsop, your politician, unless you can ram up his mouth with cloves; the slave smells ranker than some sixteen dunghills, and is seventeen times more rotten.  Marry, you may bring Frisker, my zany; he’s a good skipping swaggerer; and your fat fool there, my mango, bring him too; but let him not beg rapiers nor scarfs, in his over-familiar playing face, nor roar out his barren bold jests with a tormenting laughter, between drunk and dry.  Do you hear, stiff-toe? give him warning, admonition, to forsake his saucy glavering grace, and his goggle eye; it does not become him, sirrah:  tell him so.  I have stood up and defended you, I, to gentlemen, when you have been said to prey upon puisnes, and honest citizens, for socks or buskins; or when they have call’d you usurers or brokers, or said you were able to help to a piece of flesh—­I have sworn, I did not think so, nor that you were the common retreats for punks decayed in their practice; I cannot believe it of you.

Hist.  Thank you, captain.  Jupiter and the rest of the gods confine your modern delights without disgust.

Tuc.  Stay, thou shalt see the Moor ere thou goest.
                                      [Enter Demetrius at a distance. 
What’s he with the half arms there, that salutes us out of his
cloak, like a motion, ha?

Hist.  O, sir, his doublet’s a little decayed; he is otherwise a very simple honest fellow, sir, one Demetrius, a dresser of plays about the town here; we have hired him to abuse Horace, and bring him in, in a play, with all his gallants, as Tibullus, Mecaenas, Cornelius Gallus, and the rest.

Tuc.  And why so, stinkard?

Hist.  O, it will get us a huge deal of money, captain, and we have need on’t; for this winter has made us all poorer than so many starved snakes:  nobody comes at us, not a gentleman, nor a—­

Tuc.  But you know nothing by him, do you, to make a play of?