lips. Did you never hear any of my verses?

Bor. No, sir;---but I am in some fear I must now. [Aside.

Cris. I'll tell thee some, if I can but recover them, I composed
even now of a dressing I saw a jeweller's wife wear, who indeed was
a jewel herself: I prefer that kind of tire now; what's thy
opinion, Horace?

Hor. With your silver bodkin, it does well, sir.

Cris. I cannot tell; but it stirs me more than all your
court-curls, or your spangles, or your tricks: I affect not
these high gable-ends, these Tuscan tops, nor your coronets,
nor your arches, nor your pyramids; give me a fine, sweet-little
delicate dressing with a bodkin, as you say; and a mushroom
for all your other ornatures!

Hor. Is it not possible to make an escape from him? [Aside.

Cris. I have remitted my verses all this while; I think I have
forgot them.

Hor. Here's he could wish you had else. [Aside.

Chris. Pray Jove I can entreat them of my memory!

Hor. You put your memory to too much trouble, sir.

Cris. No, sweet Horace, we must not have thee think so.