372 THE COMPLETE ANGLES. [PART n. 



Pise. You are pleasant, and I am glad to see you so : but 

 I have rid over the bridge many a dark night. 



Fiat. Why, according to the French proverb, and 'tis a 

 good one among a great many of worse sense and sound 

 that language abounds in, Ce gue Dieu garde, est lien garde, 

 they whom Grod takes care of, are in safe protection : but, 

 let me tell you, I would not ride over it for a thousand 

 pounds, nor fall off it for two ; and yet I think I dare ven- 

 ture on foot, though if you were not by to laugh at me, I 

 should do it on all four. 



Pise. Well, sir, your mirth* becomes you, and I am glad 

 to see you safe over ; and now you are welcome into 

 Staffordshire. 



Fiat. How, Staffordshire! What do I there trow? 

 There is not a word of Staffordshire in all my direction. 



Pise. You see you are betrayed into it : but it shall be 

 in order to something that will make amends ; and 'tis but 

 an ill mile or two out of your way. 



Fiat. I believe all things, sir, and doubt nothing. Is 

 this your beloved river Dove ? 'Tis clear and swift, indeed, 

 but a very little one. 



Pise. You see it here at the worst ; we shall come to it 

 anon again after two miles riding, and so near as to lie 

 upon the very banks. 



Fiat'. Would we were there once ! But I hope we have 

 no more of these Alps to pass over. 



Pise. No, no, sir, only this ascent before you, which you 

 see is not very uneasy ; and then you will no more quarrel 

 with your way. 



Fiat. Well, if ever I come to London, of which many a 

 man there, if he were in my place would make a question, I 

 will sit down and write my travels ; and, like Tom Coriate, 1 



1 Son of the Rev. George Coriate, born at Odcombe in Somersetshire, in 

 1577. He was educated at Westminster school, and at Gloucester Hall, 

 Oxford ; after which he went into the family of Henry, Prince of "Wales. 

 Fuller says, he carried folly, which the charitable call merriment, in his 

 face, and had a head in form like an inverted sugar-loaf. He lay always 

 in his clothes, to save the labour and charge of shifting. Prince Henry 

 allowed him a pension, and kept him for his servant ; sweetmeats and 

 Coriate making the last course at all entertainments. Being the courtiers' 

 anvil to try their wits on, he sometimes returned as hard knocks as he 

 received ; and Wood calls him "the whetstone of all the wits of that age," 





