Min. A citizen of Rome, sir.

Tuc. Then you are not far distant from a fool, sir.

Min. A pothecary, sir.

Tuc. I knew thou wast not a physician: foh! out of my nostrils,
thou stink'st of lotium and the syringe; away, quack-salver!--
Follower, my sword.
[Aside.
I Pyr. Here, noble leader; you'll do no harm with it, I'll trust
you.

Tuc. Do you hear, you goodman, slave? Hook, ram, rogue, catchpole,
loose the gentleman, or by my velvet arms--
[Strikes up his heels, and seizes his sword.
Lict. What will you do, sir?

Tuc. Kiss thy hand, my honourable active varlet, and embrace thee
thus.

1 Pyr. O patient metamorphosis!

Tuc. My sword, my tall rascal.

Lict. Nay, soft, sir; some wiser than some.

Tuc. What! and a wit too? By Pluto, thou must be cherish'd, slave;
here's three drachms for thee; hold.