Ovid se. You have, sir, a poem! and where is it? That's the law you
study.

Ovid ju. Cornelius Gallus borrowed it to read.

Ovid se. Cornelius Gallus! there's another gallant too hath drunk
of the same poison, and Tibullus and Propertius. But these are
gentlemen of means and revenues now. Thou art a younger brother,
and hast nothing but they bare exhibition; which I protest shall be
bare indeed, if thou forsake not these unprofitable by-courses,
and that timely too. Name me a profest poet, that his poetry did
ever afford him so much as a competency. Ay, your god of poets
there, whom all of you admire and reverence so much, Homer, he
whose worm-eaten statue must not be spewed against, but with
hallow'd lips and groveling adoration, what was he? what was he?

Tuc. Marry, I'll tell thee, old swaggerer; he was a poor blind,
rhyming rascal, that lived obscurely up and down in booths and
tap-houses, and scarce ever made a good meal in his sleep, the
whoreson hungry beggar.

Ovid se. He says well:--nay, I know this nettles you now; but
answer me, is it not true? You'll tell me his name shall live; and
that now being dead his works have eternised him, and made him
divine: but could this divinity feed him while he lived? could his
name feast him?

Tuc. Or purchase him a senator's revenue, could it?