Hor. O welcome, my reliever; Aristius, as thou lov'st me, ransom me.
Hor. 'Death, I am seized on here By a land remora; I cannot stir, Nor move, but as he pleases.
Hor. Heart! he cleaves to me like Alcides' shirt, Tearing my flesh and sinews: O, I've been vex'd And tortured with him beyond forty fevers. For Jove's sake, find some means to take me from him.
Ari. Yes, I will;--but I'll go first and tell Mecaenas. [Aside.
Ari. The jest will make his eyes run, i'faith. [Aside.
Hor. 'Death! will he leave me? Fuscus Aristius! do you hear? Gods of Rome! You said you had somewhat to say to me in private.
Ari. Ay, but I see you are now employed with that gentleman; 'twere offence to trouble you; I'll take some fitter opportunity: farewell. [Exit.
Hor. Mischief and torment! O my soul and heart, How are you cramp'd with anguish! Death itself Brings not the like convulsions, O, this day! That ever I should view thy tedious face.---
Cris. Horace, what passion, what humour is this?
Hor. Away, good prodigy, afflict me not. A friend, and mock me thus! Never was man So left under the axe.--- [Enter Minos with two Lictors.
Min. That's he in the embroidered hat, there, with the ash-colour'd feather: his name is Laberius Crispinus.
Lict. Laberius Crispinus, I arrest you in the emperor's name.
Lice. Ay, sir, at the suit of master Minos the apothecary. [Exit hastily. Hor. Thanks, great Apollo, I will not slip thy favour offered me in my escape, for my fortunes.
Cris. O yes, I know you, master Minos; cry you mercy. But Horace? God's me, is he gone?
Min. Ay, and so would you too, if you knew how.--Officer, look to him.
Cris. Do you hear, master Minos? pray let us be used like a man of our own fashion. By Janus and Jupiter, I meant to have paid you next week every drachm. Seek not to eclipse my reputation thus vulgarly.
Min. Sir, your oaths cannot serve you; you know I have forborne you long.
Cris. I am conscious of it, sir. Nay, I beseech you, gentlemen, do not exhale me thus, remember 'tis but for sweetmeats--
Lict. Sweet meat must have sour sauce, sir. Come along.
Cris. Sweet master Minos, I am forfeited to eternal disgrace, if you do not commiserate. Good officer, be not so officious. Enter TUCCA and Pyrgi. Tuc. Why, how now, my good brace of bloodhounds, whither do you drag the gentleman? You mongrels, you curs, you ban-dogs! we are captain Tucca that talk to you, you inhuman pilchers.