COS. Master, lupus in -- O, 'tis Prosaites.
ENTER PROSAITES.
ASO. Sirrah, prepare my casting-bottle; I think I must be
enforced to purchase me another page; you see how at hand Cos waits
here.
[EXEUNT AMORPHUS, ASOTUS, COS, AND PROSAITES.]
MER. So will he too in time.
CUP. What's he Mercury?
MER. A notable smelt. One that hath newly entertain'd the beggar
to follow him, but cannot get him to wait near enough. 'Tis
Asotus, the heir of Philargyrus; but first I'll give ye the other's
character, which may make his the clearer. He that is with him is
Amorphus, a traveller, one so made out of the mixture of shreds of
forms, that himself is truly deform'd. He walks most commonly with
a clove or pick-tooth in his mouth, he is the very mint of
compliment, all his behaviours are printed, his face is another
volume of essays, and his beard is an Aristarchus. He speaks all
cream skimm'd, and more affected than a dozen waiting women. He
is his own promoter in every place. The wife of the ordinary gives
him his diet to maintain her table in discourse; which, indeed, is
a mere tyranny over her other guests, for he will usurp all the
talk: ten constables are not so tedious. He is no great shifter;
once a year his apparel is ready to revolt.
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