Cris. O yes, I know you, master Minos; cry you mercy. But Horace?
God's me, is he gone?

Min. Ay, and so would you too, if you knew how.--Officer, look to
him.

Cris. Do you hear, master Minos? pray let us be used like a man of
our own fashion. By Janus and Jupiter, I meant to have paid you
next week every drachm. Seek not to eclipse my reputation thus
vulgarly.

Min. Sir, your oaths cannot serve you; you know I have forborne you
long.

Cris. I am conscious of it, sir. Nay, I beseech you, gentlemen, do
not exhale me thus, remember 'tis but for sweetmeats--

Lict. Sweet meat must have sour sauce, sir. Come along.

Cris. Sweet master Minos, I am forfeited to eternal disgrace, if
you do not commiserate. Good officer, be not so officious.
Enter TUCCA and Pyrgi.
Tuc. Why, how now, my good brace of bloodhounds, whither do you
drag the gentleman? You mongrels, you curs, you ban-dogs! we are
captain Tucca that talk to you, you inhuman pilchers.

Min. Sir, he is their prisoner.

Tuc. Their pestilence! What are you, sir?