_Fue_. Where's _Didier_?

_Did_. Here, thou contemptyble thynge that never werte
So free as to put on thyne owne ill hatt;
Thou that hast worne thy selfe and a blewe coate
To equall thryddbareness and never hadst
Vertue inough to make thee [be] preferrd
Before aught but a cloak bagge,--what to me?

_Fue_. The wishe of poxe enough to make thee all
One entire scabb. Dost thou abuse thy elders?

_Did_. I cry your reverence mercye, I confes
You are more antique.

_Fue_. Antycke in thy face!
My lord shall knowe.

_Did_. But pray thee let me fyrst
Knowe what my lorde would have me knowe by thee.

_Fue_. I scorne to tell thee or to talke with thee;
And yet a woulde speake with thee,--and yet I will not tell thee;
Thou shalt shortlye knowe thou hadst bene better--
I say no more; though my deserts be hydd
My adge is not, for I neare weare a hatt;
And that shalbe ballast to my complaynte
To make it goe more steadye to thy ruyne.
It shall, dost heare, it shall. [_Exit Fue_.