author stay with me.
[Exit Histrio.
Dem. Yes, sir.

Tuc. 'Twas well done, little Minos, thou didst stalk well: forgive
me that I said thou stunk'st; Minos; 'twas the savour of a poet I
met sweating in the street, hangs yet in my nostrils.

Cris. Who, Horace?

Tuc. Ay, he; dost thou know him ?

Cris. O, he forsook me most barbarously, I protest.

Tuc. Hang him, fusty satyr, he smells all goat; he carries a ram
under his arm-holes, the slave: I am the worse when I see him.--
Did not Minos impart? [Aside to Crispinus.

Cris. Yes, here are twenty drachms he did convey.

Tuc. Well said, keep them, we'll share anon; come, little Minos.

Cris. Faith, captain, I'll be bold to shew you a mistress of mine,
a jeweller's wife, a gallant, as we go along.

Tuc. There spoke my genius. Minos, some of thy eringos, little
Minos; send. Come hither, Parnassus, I must have thee familiar with
my little locust here; 'tis a good vermin, they say.--
[Horace and Trebatius pass over the stage.]
See, here's Horace, and old Trebatius, the great lawyer, in his