Shep. 1. Have they such mawes?
Clo. Mawes? why man, fidlers have no better stomackes, I have knowne some of them eate up a Lord at three bits.
Shep. 2. Three bonds you meane.
Clo. A Knight is no body with them, A young gentleman is swallowed whole like a Gudgeon.
Shep. 1. I wonder that Gudgeon does not choake him.
Clo. A Gudgeon choake him, if the throate of his conscience be found, he'le gulpe downe any thing; five of your silken Gallants are swallowed easier than a Damaske Prune: for our Citty wolves doe so roule my young prodigall first in waxe, which is soft, till he looke like a guilded Pill, and then so finely wrap him up in Sattin which is sleeke, that he goes downe without chewing, and thereupon they are called slippery Gallants.
Shep. 1. Ile be no Gentleman for that tricke.
Clo. The last is your Sea wolfe, a horrible ravener to, hee has a belly as big as a ship, and devours as much silke at a gulp as would serve forty dozen Taylors against a Christmas day or a running at Tilt.
Shep. 1. Well, well, now our trap is set what shall we doe with the wolves we catch?
Clo. Why those that are great ones and more than our matches we'le let goe, and the lesser wolves we will hang: shall it be soo?
Both. I, I, each man to his stand. Exeunt.
Enter Lapirus, Solus.
Lap. Foule monster monger, who must live by that Which is thy owne destruction: Why should men Be natures bondslaves? Every creature else Comes freely to the Table of the Earth; That which for man alone doth all things beare Scarce gives him his true dyet any where. What spightfull winds breath here? that not a Tree Spreads, forth a friendly arme? distressed Queene,