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.
Good-den, Sir Richard,—Godamercy fellow,
And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter;
For new-made honour doth forget mens names:
'Tis too respective and ^{b note}unsociable
For your ^{c note}conversing. Now your traveller,
He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mess;
And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd,
Why then I suck my teeth, and catechise
My † ^notepiked man of countries,—my dear Sir,
(Thus leaning on mine elbow I begin)
I shall beseech you,—that is Question now,
And then comes Answer like an A B C-book:
O Sir, says Answer, at your best command,
At your employment, at your service, Sir:—
No Sir, says Question, I, sweet Sir, at yours,—
And so e'er Answer knows what Question would,
(Saving in dialogue of compliment,

And talking of the Alps and Apennines,
The Pyrenean and the river Po)
It draws towards supper in conclusion so.
But this is worshipful society,
And fits the mounting spirit like my self:
For he is but a bastard to the time
That doth not smack of observation,
And so am I whether I smoak 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 ages tooth;
Which though 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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