Fames sitisq; ignis in vultu, pudor & impudentia,
In omni parte necessitas & indigentia.
Old K. Audi tu bonus socius, tu es Scholasticus, sic intelligo,
Ego faciam argumentum, mark now Sir, now I fetch
Him up.
Sir Gr. I have been fetcht up a hundred times for this,
Yet I could never learn half so much.
Old K. Audi, & responde, hoc est Argumentum, nomen est
Nomen, ergo, quod est tibi nomen? Responde nunc,
Responde argumentum meum. Have I not put him to't, Sir?
Sir Gr. Yes Sir, I think so.
Witty. Step in, the rascal is put out of his pen'd Speech,
And he can go no farther.
Old K. Cur non respondes?
Pris. Oh Domine, tanta mea est miseria.
Witty. So, he's almost in agen.
Pris. Ut nocte mecum pernoctat egestas, luce quotidie
Paupertas habitat.
Old K. Sed quod est tibi nomen: & quis dedit? Responde
Argumentum.
Pris. Hem, hem.
Witty. He's dry he hems, on quickly.
Ruin. Courteous Gentlemen, if the brow of a Military face may not be offensive to your generous eye-balls, let his wounds speak better than his words, for some branch or small sprig of charity to be planted upon this poor barren soil of a Soldier.
Old K. How now, what Arms and Arts both go a begging?
Ruin. Such is the Post-progress of cold charity now a-days, who (for heat to her frigid Limbs) passes in so swift a motion, that two at the least had need be to stay her.
Sir G. Sir, lets reward um I pray you, and be gone. If any quarrel should arise amongst us, I am able to answer neither of them, his Iron and Steel tongue is as hard as the t'others Latine one.
Old K. Stay, stay Sir I will talk a little with him first,
Let me alone with both, I will try whether they
Live by their wits or no; for such a man I love,
And what? you both beg together then?
Pris. Conjunctis manibus, profecto, Domine.
Ruin. With equal fortunes, equal distribution, there's not the breadth of a swords point uneven in our division.
Sir Gr. What two qualities are here cast away upon two poor fellows, if a man had um that could maintain um? what a double man were that, if these two fellows might be bought and sodden, and boil'd to a jelly, and eaten fasting every morning, I do not think but a man should find strange things in his stomach.
Old K. Come Sir, joyn your charity with mine, and we'll make up a couple of pence bewixt us.
Sir Gr. If a man could have a pennyworth for his penny, I would bestow more money with 'em.
Witty. Save you Gentlemen, how now? what are you encount'red here? what fellows are these?
Old K. Faith Sir, here's Mars and Mercury, a pair of poor Planets it seems, that Jupiter has turn'd out to live by their wits, and we are e'en about a little spark of charity to kindle um a new fire.
Witty. Stay, pray you stay Sir, you may abuse your charity, nay, make that goodness in you no better than a vice; so many deceivers walk in these shadows now a days; that certainly your bounties were better spilt than reserv'd to so lewd and vicious uses; which is he that professes the Soldier?
Ruin. He that professes his own profession, Sir, and the dangerous life he hath led in it, this pair of half score years.
Witty. In what services have you been, Sir?
Ruin. The first that flesht me a Soldier, Sir, was that great battel at Alcazar in Barbary, where the noble English Stukely fell, and where that royal Portugal Sebastian ended his untimely days.
Witty. Are you sure Sebastian died there?
Ruin. Faith Sir, there was some other rumour hop't amongst us, that he, wounded, escap'd, and toucht on his Native shore agen, where finding his Countrey at home more distrest by the invasion of the Spaniard, than his loss abroad, forsook it, still supporting a miserable and unfortunate life, which (where he ended) is yet uncertain.
Witty. By my faith Sir, he speaks the nearest fame of truth in this.
Ruin. Since Sir, I serv'd in France, the Low Countreys, Lastly, at that memorable skirmish at Newport, where the forward and bold Scot there spent his life so freely, that from every single heart that there fell, came home from his resolution, a double honor to his Countrey.
Witty. This should be no counterfeit, Sir.
Old K. I do not think he is, Sir.
Witty. But Sir, me thinks you do not shew the marks of a Soldier, could you so freely scape, that you brought home no scarrs to be your chronicle?
Ruin. Sir, I have wounds, and many, but in those parts where nature and humanity bids me shame to publish.
Witty. A good Soldier cannot want those badges.
Sir Greg. Now am not I of your mind in that, for I hold him the best soldier that scapes best, alwaies at a Cock-fencing I give him the best that has the fewest knocks.
Witty. Nay, I'll have a bout with your Scholar too,
To ask you why you should be poor (yet richly learn'd)
Were no question, at least, you can easily
Answer it; but whether you have learning enough,
To deserve to be poor or no (since poverty is
Commonly the meed of Learning) is yet to be tryed;
You have the Languages, I mean the chief,
As the Hebrew, Syriack, Greek, Latine, &c.
Pris. Aliquantulum, non totaliter, Domine.
Old K. The Latine I have sufficiently tried him in,
And I promise you Sir, he is very well grounded.
Witty. I will prove him in some of the rest.
Toi[s] miois fatherois iste Cock-scomboy?
Pris. Kay yonkeron nigitton oy fouleroi Asinisoy.
Witty. Cheateron ton biton?
Pris. Tous pollous strikerous, Angelo to peeso.
Witty. Certainly Sir, a very excellent Scholar in the Greek.
Old K. I do note a wondrous readiness in him.
Sir Greg. I do wonder how the Trojans could hold out ten years siege (as 'tis reported)