"
WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.
"Until it was trodden on by the ass that could not leap over it.
These, I think, are the words of the fable."
SIR THOMAS.
"They are so."
SIR SILAS.
"What fable?"
SIR THOMAS.
"Tush! don't press him too hard; he wants not wit, but learning."
SIR SILAS.
"He wants a rope's-end; and a rope's-end is not enough for him,
unless we throw in the other."
SIR THOMAS.
"Peradventure he may be an instrument, a potter's clay, a type, a
token.
"I have seen many young men, and none like unto him. He is shallow
but clear; he is simple, but ingenuous."
SIR SILAS.
"Drag the ford again, then. In my mind he is as deep as the big
tankard; and a mouthful of rough burrage will be the beginning and
end of it."
SIR THOMAS.
"No fear of that. Neither, if rightly reported by the youngster, is
there so much doctrine in the doctor as we expected. He doth not
dwell upon the main; he is worldly; he is wise in his generation,--
he says things out of his own head.
"Silas, that can't hold! We want props--fulcrums, I think you
called 'em to the farmers; or was it stimulums?"
SIR SILAS.
"Both very good words."
SIR THOMAS.
"I should be mightily pleased to hear thee dispute with that great
don.
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