Page:The Works of Ben Jonson - Gifford - Volume 4.djvu/17

 Sub.Since, by my means, translated suburb-captain.

Face.By your means, doctor dog!

Sub.Within man's memory, All this I speak of.

Face.Why, I pray you, have I

Been countenanced by you, or you by me? Do but collect, sir, where I met you first.

Sub.I do not hear well.

Face.Not of this, I think it. But I shall put you in mind, sir;—at Pie-corner, Taking your meal of steam in, from cooks' stalls, Where, like the father of hunger, you did walk Piteously costive, with your pinch'd-horn-nose, And your complexion of the Roman wash, Stuck full of black and melancholic worms, Like powder corns shot at the artillery-yard.

Sub.I wish you could advance your voice a little.

Face.When you went pinn'd up in the several rags You had raked and pick'd from dunghills, before day; Your feet in mouldy slippers, for your kibes; A felt of rug, and a thin threaden cloke, That scarce would cover your no buttocks

Sub.So, sir!