Cris. He dwells at the Three Furies, by Janus's temple.

Hor. Your pothecary does, sir.

Cris. Heart, I owe him money for sweetmeats, and he has laid to
arrest me, I hear: but

Hor: Sir, I have made a most solemn vow, I will never bail any man.

Oris. Well then, I'll swear, and speak him fair, if the worst come.
But his name is Minos, not Rhadamanthus, Horace.

Hor. That may be, sir, I but guess'd at his name by his sign. But
your Minos is a judge too, sir.

Cris I protest to thee, Horace, (do but taste me once,) if I do
know myself, and mine own virtues truly, thou wilt not make that
esteem of Varius, or Virgil, or Tibullus, or any of 'em indeed, as
now in thy ignorance thou dost; which I am content to forgive: I
would fain see which of these could pen more verses in a day, or
with more facility, than I; or that could court his mistress, kiss
her hand, make better sport with her fan or her dog

Hor. I cannot bail you yet, sir.

Cris. Or that could move his body more gracefully, or dance better;
you should see me, were it not in the street

Hor. Nor yet.