hich is thine
inheritance, and cause a lack of cords for the Thames shipping!

JACCONOT.

Don't choke me with compliments!

HEYWOOD (_to_ MIDDLETON).

He seems right proud of this multiplied idea of his latter end.

JACCONOT.

Ay; hanging's of high antiquity, and, thereto, of broad modern repute.
The flag, the sign, the fruit, the felon, and other high and mighty
game, all hang; though the sons of ink and sawdust try to stand apart,
smelling civet, as one should say,--faugh! Jewelled caps, ermined
cloaks, powdered wigs, church bells, _bona-roba_ bed-gowns, gilded
bridles, spurs, shields, swords, harness, holy relics, and salted hogs,
all hang in glory! Pictures, too, of rare value! Also music's
ministrants,--the lute, the horn, the fiddle, the pipe, the gong, the
viol, the salt-box, the tambourine and the triangle, make a dead-wall
dream of festive harmonies!

MIDDLETON.

Infernal discords, thou would'st say!

JACCONOT (_rapidly_).

These are but few things among many! for 'scutcheons, scarecrows,
proclamations, the bird in a cage, the target for fools' wit, _hic
jacet_ tablets (that is, lying ones), the King's Head and the Queen's
Arms, ropes of onions, dried herbs, smoked fish, holly boughs, hall
lanthorns, framed piety texts, and adored frights of family portraits,
all hang! Likewise corkscrews, cat-skins, glittering trophies, sausage
links, shining icicles, the crucifix, and the skeleton in chains. There,
we all swing, my masters! Tut! hanging's a high Act of Parliament
privilege!--a Star-Chamber Garter-right!

MIDDLETON (_to_ Heywood _laughingly_).

The devil's seed germinates with reptile rapidity, and blossoms and
fructifies in the vinous fallows of this bully's brain!

JACCONOT.

I tell thee what----(_looking off_) another time!

_Exit_ JACCONOT _hastily._

HEYWOOD.

I breathe fresh air!

MIDDLETON.

Look!--said I not so? See whom 'tis he meets;
And with a lounging, loose, familiar air,
Cocking his cap and setting his hand on's hip,
Salutes with such free language as his action
And attitude explain!

HEYWOOD.

I grieve for Marlowe:
The more, since 'tis as certain he must have
Full course of passion, as that its object's full
Of most unworthy elements.

MIDDLETON.

Unworthy,
Indeed, of such a form, if all be base.
But Nature, methinks, doth seldom