Tamoren. 'Tis a sad story. Within there!
Let them have wine and fire. But hark you.[Whispers
Enter Thieves, with a Poet.
Thieves. A prize! A prize! A prize!
Peridor. Set him down.
Poet. And for the blue,[Sings55
Give him a cup of sack, 'twill mend his hue.
Peridor. Drunk, as I live! [Pinch him, pinch him.] What art?
Poet. I am a poet,
A poor dabbler in rhyme.
Peridor. Come, confess, confess.
Poet. I do confess, I do want money.60
Peridor. By the description he's a poet indeed.
Well, proceed.[Pinch him
Poet. What d'you mean, pox on you?
Prithee, let me alone.
Some candles here!65
And fill us t'other quart, and fill us,
Rogue, drawer, t'other quart.
Some small-beer.
And for the blue,
Give him a cup of sack, 'twill mend his hue.70
Tamoren. Set him by, till he's sober.
Come, let's go see our duellist drest.[Exeunt
Scene IV.
Enter Tailor and two Serjeants
Tailor. He's something tall; and, for his chin, it has
No bush below: marry, a little wool,
As much as an unripe peach doth wear; just
Enough to speak him drawing towards a man.
Serj. Is he of fury? Will he foin, and give5
The mortal touch?
Tailor. O no, he seldom wears
His sword.
Serj. Topo is the word, if he do:
Thy debt, my little myrmidon?
Tailor. A yard and a half, I assure you, without abatement.10
