crier of onions.
Helen, a broker for chambermaids.
Semiramis, the beggars' lice-killer.
Dido did sell mushrooms.
Penthesilea sold cresses.
Lucretia was an alehouse-keeper.
Hortensia, a spinstress.
Livia, a grater of verdigris.

After this manner, those that had been great lords and ladies here, got but
a poor scurvy wretched living there below. And, on the contrary, the
philosophers and others, who in this world had been altogether indigent and
wanting, were great lords there in their turn. I saw Diogenes there strut
it out most pompously, and in great magnificence, with a rich purple gown
on him, and a golden sceptre in his right hand. And, which is more, he
would now and then make Alexander the Great mad, so enormously would he
abuse him when he had not well patched his breeches; for he used to pay his
skin with sound bastinadoes. I saw Epictetus there, most gallantly
apparelled after the French fashion, sitting under a pleasant arbour, with
store of handsome gentlewomen, frolicking, drinking, dancing, and making
good cheer, with abundance of crowns of the sun. Above the lattice were
written these verses for his device:

To leap and dance, to sport and play,
And drink good wine both white and brown,
Or nothing else do all the day
But tell bags full of many a crown.

When he saw me, he invited me to drink with him very courteously, and I
being willing to be entreated, we tippled and chopined together most
theologically. In the meantime came Cyrus to beg one farthing of him for
the honour of Mercury, therewith to buy a few onions for his supper. No,
no, said Epictetus, I do not use in my almsgiving to bestow farthings.
Hold, thou varlet, there's a crown for thee; be an honest man. Cyrus was
exceeding glad to have met with such a booty; but the other poor rogues,
the kings that are there below, as Alexander, Darius, and others, stole it
away from him by night. I saw Pathelin, the treasurer of Rhadamanthus,
who, in cheapening the pudding-pies that Pope Julius cried, asked him how
much a dozen. Three blanks, said the Pope. Nay, said Pathelin, three
blows with a cudgel. Lay them down here, you rascal, and go fetch more.
The poor Pope went away weeping, who, when he came to his master, the
pie-maker, told him that they had taken away his pudding-pies. Whereupon
his master gave him such a sound lash with an eel-skin, that his own would
have been worth nothing to make bag-pipe-bags of. I saw Mas