He tells thee true, my noble neophyte; my little grammaticaster, he does: it shall never put thee to thy mathematics, metaphysics, philosophy, and I know not what supposed sufficiencies: if thou canst but have the patience to plod enough, talk and make noise enough, be impudent enough, and 'tis enough.

LUP. Three books will furnish you.

TUC. And the less art the better: besides, when it shall be in the power of thy cheverel conscience to do right, or wrong, at thy pleasure, my pretty Alcibiades.

LUP. Aye, and to have better men than himself by many thousand degrees to observe him, and stand bare.

TUC. True, and he to carry himself proud, and stately, and have the law on his side for't, old boy.

OVI. SEN. Well, the day grows old, gentlemen, and I must leave you. Publius, if thou wilt hold my favour, abandon these idle fruitless studies that so bewitch thee. Send Janus home his back face again, and look only forward to the law: intend that. I will allow thee what shall suit thee in the rank of gentlemen, and maintain thy society with the best: and under these conditions, I leave thee. My blessings light upon thee, if thou respect them: if not, mine eyes may drop for thee, but thine own heart will ache for itself; and so farewell.

 

Enter Luscus

 

What, are my horses come?

LUSC. Yes, sir, they are at the gate without.

OVI. SEN. That's well. Asinius Lupus, a word. Captain, I shall take my leave of you?

TUC. No, my little old boy, dispatch with Cothurnus there: I'll attend thee, I –

LUSC Aside. To borrow some ten drachmas, I know his project.

OVI. SEN To Lupus. Sir, you shall make me beholding to you. Now, Captain Tucca, what say you?

TUC. Why, what should I say? Or what can I say, my flower o' the order? Should I say, thou art rich? Or that thou art honourable? Or wise? Or valiant? Or learned? Or liberal? Why, thou art all these, and thou knowest it (my noble Lucullus) thou knowest it: come, be not ashamed of thy virtues, old stump. Honour's a good brooch to wear in a man's hat, at all times. Thou art the man of wars Maecenas, old boy. Why shouldst not thou be graced then by them, as well as he is by his poets?

 

Enter Pyrgus

 

How now, my carrier, what news?

LUS Aside. The boy has stayed within for his cue, this half hour.

TUC. Come, do not whisper to me, but speak it out: what? It is no treason against the state, I hope, is't?

LUS Aside. Yes, against the state of my master's purse.

PYR. Sir, Agrippa desires you to forbear him till the next week: his mules are not yet come up.

TUC. His mules? Now the bots, the spavin, and the glanders, and some dozen diseases more light on him and his mules.