the world
reports this of you, mistress, that a man can no sooner come to
your house, but the butler comes with a black-jack, and says,
"Welcome, friend, here's a cup of the best for you," verily,
mistress, you are said to have the best ale in all Scotland.

_Countess._ Sirrah, go fetch him drink [_an attendant brings
drink._] How likest thou this?

_Slip._ Like it mistress! why this is quincy quarie, pepper de
watchet, single goby, of all that ever I tasted. I'll prove in this
ale, and toast the compass of the whole world. First, this is the
earth; it ties in the middle a fair brown toast, a goodly country
for hungry teeth to dwell upon; next this is the sea, a fair pool
for a dry tongue to fish in; now come I, and seeing the world is
naught, I divide it thus: and because the sea cannot stand without
the earth, as Aristotle saith, I put them both into their first
chaos, which is my belly, and so, mistress, you may see your ale is
become a miracle.

Further on Slipper again shows his readiness in dialogue--

_Sir Bartram._ Ho, fellow! stay and let me speak with thee.

_Slip._ Fellow! friend thou dost abuse me: I am a gentleman.

_Sir B._ A gentleman! how so?

_Slip._ Why, I rub horses, Sir.

_Sir B._ And what of that?

_Slip._ O simple-witted! mark my reason. They that do good service
in the commonweal are gentlemen, but such as rub horses do good
service in the commonweal, _ergo_, tarbox, master courtier, a
horse-keeper is a gentleman.

_Sir B._ Here is over much wit in good earnest. But, sirrah, where
is thy master?

_Slip._ Neither above ground nor under ground; drawing out red into
white, swallowing that down without chawing, which was never made
without treading.

_Sir B._ Why, where is he then?

_Slip._ Why in his cellar, drinking a cup of neat and brisk claret
in a bowl of silver. Oh, Sir, the wine runs trillill down his
throat, which cost the poor vintner many a stamp before it was
made. But I must hence, Sir, I have haste.

Sir Bertram intimates that he wants his assistance, and will pay him.

_Slip._ A good word, thou hast won me; this word is like a warm
caudle to a cold stomach.

_Sir B._ Sirrah, wilt thou for money and reward
Convey me certain letters, out of hand,
From out thy master's pocket?