NAN: Now, room for fresh gamesters, who do will you to know,

They do bring you neither play, nor university show;

And therefore do entreat you, that whatsoever they rehearse,

May not fare a whit the worse, for the false pace of the verse.

If you wonder at this, you will wonder more ere we pass,

For know, here is inclosed the soul of Pythagoras,

That juggler divine, as hereafter shall follow;

Which soul, fast and loose, sir, came first from Apollo,

And was breath'd into Aethalides; Mercurius his son,

Where it had the gift to remember all that ever was done.

From thence it fled forth, and made quick transmigration

To goldy-lock'd Euphorbus, who was killed in good fashion,

At the siege of old Troy, by the cuckold of Sparta.

Hermotimus was next (I find it in my charta)

To whom it did pass,