Hor. Not greatly gallant, Sir; like my fortunes, well: I am bold to
take my leave, Sir; you'll nought else, Sir, would you?

Cris. Troth, no, but I could wish thou didst know us, Horace; we
are a scholar, I assure thee.

Hor. A scholar, Sir! I shall be covetous of your fair knowledge.

Cris. Gramercy, good Horace. Nay, we are new turn'd poet too, which
is more; and a satirist too, which is more than that: I write just
in thy vein, I. I am for your odes, or your sermons, or any thing
indeed; we are a gentleman besides; our name is Rufus Laberius
Crispinus; we are a pretty Stoic too.

Hor. To the proportion of your beard, I think it, sir.

Cris. By Phoebus, here's a most neat, fine street, is't not? I
protest to thee, I am enamoured of this street now, more than of
half the streets of Rome again; 'tis so polite and terse! there's
the front of a building now! I study architecture too: if ever I
should build, I'd have a house just of that prospective.

Hor. Doubtless, this gallant's tongue has a good turn, when he
sleeps. [Aside.

Cris. I do make verses, when I come in such a street as this: O,
your city ladies, you shall have them sit in every shop like the
Muses--offering you the Castalian dews, and the Thespian liquors, to
as many as have but the sweet grace and audacity to sip of their