"Gramercy," said Vin; "at the next play of yours I will bring down a
set of roaring boys, that shall make all the critics in the pit, and
the gallants on the stage, civil, or else the curtain shall smoke for
it."

"Now, that I call mean," said Tunstall, "to take the poor rhymer's
money, who has so little left behind."

"You are an owl, once again," said Vincent; "if he has nothing left to
buy cheese and radishes, he will only dine a day the sooner with some
patron or some player, for that is his fate five days out of the
seven. It is unnatural that a poet should pay for his own pot of beer;
I will drink his tester for him, to save him from such shame; and when
his third night comes round, he shall have penniworths for his coin, I
promise you.--But here comes another-guess customer. Look at that
strange fellow--see how he gapes at every shop, as if he would swallow
the wares.--O! Saint Dunstan has caught his eye; pray God he swallow
not the images. See how he stands astonished, as old Adam and Eve ply
their ding-dong! Come, Frank, thou art a scholar; construe me that
same fellow, with his blue cap with a cock's feather in it, to show
he's of gentle blood, God wot--his grey eyes, his yellow hair, his
sword with a ton of iron in the handle--his grey thread-bare cloak--
his step like a Frenchman--his look like a Spaniard--a book at his
girdle, and a broad dudgeon-dagger on the other side, to show him
half-pedant, half-bully. How call you that pageant, Frank?"

"A raw Scotsman," said Tunstall; "just come up, I suppose, to help the
rest of his countrymen to gnaw old England's bones; a palmerworm, I
reckon, to devour what the locust has spared."