CAMPEIUS

To gain her crown I'll not kneel thus. Thrown down, or raised? Umh: So. A book. Ye may see Sir. Perhaps I would cause. You trouble me: pray leave me. Say ye? Are you a Doctor? your hands Sir, pray why? Do you know your self? your business Are you a scholar? O Sir, I have seen many heads under such That scarce had brains to line it: if you're a scholar, Me thinks you should know manners, by your leave Name, Campeius. Never. So Sir. A book. Ye may see Sir. Perhaps I would cause. You trouble me: pray leave me. Say ye? Are you a Doctor? your hands Sir, pray why? Do you know your self? your business Are you a scholar? O Sir, I have seen many heads under such That scarce had brains to line it: if you're a scholar, Me thinks you should know manners, by your leave Name, Campeius. Never. So Sir. Yes. If they could, 'Tis but mine I, to your no. Sir, I know you not this thing which you have Affrights me: scholars of weak temper needs To fear (as they on Sunbankes lie to read) Adders i'th highest grass: these leaves but turned, Like willow sticks hard rubbed may kindle fire, Cities with sparks as small have oft been burned. I would be loath, For any harsh tune that my tongue may warble, To have the instrument unstrung. And to you. A word Sir: Bred in this country? I am no bird To break mine own nest down: what ight soever Your words make through this air (though it be troubled) Mine ear Sir, is no reaching Fowling piece What passes through it, kills: you may proceed, Perhaps you would wound that, I wish should bleed. You have advantage now, I put the longest weapon into your hands This paths vnbruz'd: go on Sir. How did you change your star 3 Oh me dull ass I am nailed down by wilfullbeggerie, Yet feel not where it enters: Like a horse My hoofes are pared to 'th quick) even till they ble To make me run from hence, yet this Tortois shell, (My country) lies so heavy on my back , Pressing my worth down, that I slowly creep Through base and slimy ways. She hangs Her own brats at her back, to teach them beg, And in her lap sets strangers. I was not born to this, not schooled to this, My parents spent not wealth on meto this, I will not stay here long. Being hence, I'll write in gall and poison gainst my rce This Fairy land, for rewarding merit: If ever I come back I'll be a Call rop To prick my countries feet, that tread on me. In disputation I dare for Latin, hebrew, and the Greek, Challenge and university; yet, (Oh evil hap!) Three learned languages cannot set a nap. Upon this threadbare gown: how is Art cursed? She ha the sweetest lymbes, and goes the worst: Like common Fiddlers, drawing down others meat With lickorish tunes, while they on scraps do eat. But how? Her heart—her very heart— Would it were dried to dust, to strew upon Envenomed paper upon which I'll write. I have read, How great it is, how glorious, and would venture A soul to get but thither. Rare. Oh admirable! Thus to meet heaven, who would not wade through hell? And into our own, Have rained down showers of gold. If all the Spells. That wit, or eloquenee, or arts can set: If all the sleights that bookmen use in schools Be pow efull in such happiness, it's mine. I do assure you, The Mistress of us all, hath on this paper Breathed you a blessing: your devotion Is recommended highly, and to nourish The flames new kindled in you, here's more fuel, Why? You change not bias. Yes. This burr still hang on me! And you Sir. This burr still hang on m And you Sir. Yes.