A foot of honour better than I was,
But many a many foot of land the worse!
Well, now can I make any Joan a lady.

&wlquo;Good-den, Sir Richard,—Godamercy, fellow;
&wlquo;And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;
&wlquo;For new-made honour doth forget mens' names:
&wlquo;'Tis too respective and unsociable
&wlquo;For your conversing. Now your traveller,
&wlquo;He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mess;
&wlquo;And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd,
&wlquo;Why then I suck my teeth, and catechise
&wlquo;My ^{5 note}piked man of countries;—My dear Sir,
&wlquo;(Thus leaning on mine elbow, I begin)
&wlquo;I shall beseech you,—that is question now;
&wlquo;And then comes answer like an ABC-book:
&wlquo;O Sir, says answer, at your best command,
&wlquo;At your employment, at your service, Sir:—
&wlquo;No, Sir, says question, I, sweet Sir, at yours,—
&wlquo;^{6 note}
And so e'er answer knows what question would,
&wlquo;Saving in dialogue of compliment;
&wlquo;And talking of the Alps and Apennines,
&wlquo;The Pyrenean and the river Po;
&wlquo;It draws towards supper in conclusion, so.

&wlquo;But this is worshipful society,&wrquo;
And fits the mounting spirit like myself:
For he is but a bastard to the time,
That doth not smack of observation;
[^{7 note}And so am I, whether I smack or no:]
And not alone in habit and device,
Exterior form, outward accoutrement;
But from the inward motion to deliver
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth;
Which tho' I will not practise to deceive,
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn;
For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising.
But who comes in such haste, in riding robes?
What woman-post is this? hath she no husband,
That will take pains to blow a horn before her?
O me! it is my mother; now, good lady,
What brings you here to court so hastily?

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