CRITICUS

Molus, what odds between thy commons in Athens, and the diet in court? A pages life, & a scholars? Aptly understood, a mouse of beafe. For other sports, a square die in a pages poc ket, is as decent as a square cap on a Graduates head. Then is it time lost to be a scholar. We pages are Politians: for look what we hear our masters talk of, we determine of: where we suspect, we undermine: and where we mislike for some particular grudge, there we pick quarrels for a general grief. Nothing among us but in steed of good morrow, what news: we fall from cogging at dice to cog with states: & so forward are mean me ̄ in those matters, that they would be cocks to tread down others, before they be chick ̄ S to rise them selves. Youths are very forward to stroke their chins, though they have no beards, and to lie as loud as he that hath lived longest. Then be they very dark days: for I can see no gold. And you master scholar slender witted. Soft Scholaris, I deny your argument. Then I deny it because it is no argument. But let us go and follow our masters. Sapho, a Lady here in Sycily. No, this is she that all wonder at and worship. Oh Molus, beware of valour, he that can look big, and wear his dagger pommel lower the ̄ the point, that lies at a good ward, and can hit a button with a thrust, and will into the field man to man for a bout or two, he, Molus, is a shrewd fellow, and shall be well fol lowed. Danger or death. How so? Oh valiant knight. Scholars fight, who rather seek to choke their stomachs, then see their blood. Well, of this hereafter but here comes Cali pho, we will have some sport. Whom dost thou seek? Molus, the Smith holds you hard. Try him again. Or else what? You have both done learnedly: for as sure as he is a smith, thou art a devil. Be not choleric, you are wise: but let us take up this matter with a song. What brown study ar thou in Molus, no mirth? no life? Why? Then is it a blind God. Easy. Nemo videt manticae, quod intergo est. Excellent. But how canst thou study, when thy mind is only in the kitchen? Yes, what then? Fish. Cheese. You are disposed to jest. But if your silk ̄ throat can swallow no packthread, you must pick your teeth, and play with your trencher. What news? This shall go with me, I trust in Syracyse to give one or other a Parenthesis. What wouldst thou? I thought you would have hardly entreated We nus. What? Thou mayest be skilled in thy Logic, but not in thy Lerypoope: belike no meat can down with you, unless you have a knife to cut it: but come among us, and you shall see us once in a morning have a mouse at a bay. I taught you that lesson, to ask what news, & this is the news: to morrow there shall be a desperate fray between two, made at all weapons, from the brown bill to the bodkin. Let us see but I pray thee prove it better, then thou didst thy self to be valiant. Prove it Calipho, and I will give thee a good Colaphum. Eggs. Yea, but it disgesteth all things except it self. Thy belly is thy God.