of their inventions: but, for all this, you shall have forty shillings
and an odd bottle of wine.

INGENIOSO.
Forty shillings! a fit reward for one of your rheumatic poets, that
beslavers all the paper he comes by, and furnishes all the chandlers
with waste-papers to wrap candles in; but as for me, I'll be paid dear
even for the dregs of my wit: little knows the world what belongs to the
keeping of a good wit in waters, diets, drinks, tobacco, &c. It is a
dainty and a costly creature; and therefore I must be paid sweetly.
Furnish me with money, that I may put myself in a new suit of clothes,
and I'll suit thy shop with a new suit of terms. It's the gallantest
child my invention was ever delivered of: the title is, A Chronicle of
Cambridge Cuckolds. Here a man may see what day of the month such a
man's commons were enclosed, and when thrown open; and when any entailed
some odd crowns upon the heirs of their bodies unlawfully begotten.
Speak quickly: else I am gone.

DANTER.
O, this will sell gallantly; I'll have it, whatsoever it cost: will you
walk on, Master Ingenioso? We'll sit over a cup of wine, and agree on it.

INGENIOSO.
A cup of wine is as good a constable as can be to take up the quarrel
betwixt us.
[_Exeunt_.

ACTUS I., SCAENA 4.

PHILOMUSUS _in a physician's habit_: STUDIOSO,
_that is_, JAQUES _man, and_ PATIENT.

PHILOMUSUS.
Tit, tit, tit, non point;[62] non debet fieri phlebotomia in coitu Lunae.
Here is a recipe.

PATIENT.
A recipe?

PHILOMUSUS.
Nos Gallia non curamus quantitatem syllabarum: let me hear how many
stools you do make. Adieu, monsieur: adieu, good monsieur.--What,
Jaques, il n'y a personne apres ici?

STUDIOSO.
Non.

PHILOMUSUS.
Then let us steal time for this borrowed shape,
Recounting our unequal haps of late:
Late did the ocean grasp us in his arms;
Late did we live within a stranger air,
Late did we see the cinders of great Rome:
We thought that English fugitives there ate
Gold for restorative, if gold were meat.
Yet now we find by bought experience
That, wheresoe'er we wander up and down
On the round shoulders of this massy world,
Or our ill-fortunes or the world's ill-eye
Forespeak our good, procure[63] our misery.

STUDIOSO.
So oft the northern wind with frozen wings
Hath beat the flowers that in our garden grew,
Thrown down the stalks of our aspiring youth;
So oft hath winter nipp'd our trees' fair rind,
That now we seem nough