Crassus his lyes,[95] are not pernicious lyes,
But pleasant fictions, hurtfull unto none
But to himselfe; for no man counts him wise
To tell for truth that which for false is knowne.
He sweares that Gaunt is three score miles about,
And that the bridge at Paris on the Seyn
Is of such thicknesse, length and breadth throughout,
That sixe score Arches can it scarce sustaine;
He sweares he saw so great a dead man's scull
At Canterbury, dig'd out of the ground,
That would containe of wheat three bushels full;
And that in Kent are twenty yeomen found,
Of which the poorest euery yeare dispends,
Fiue thousand pounds: these and fiue thousand mo,
So oft he hath recited to his friends,
That now himselfe perswades himselfe 'tis so.
But why doth Crassus tell his lyes so rife,
Of Bridges, Townes, and things that haue no life?
He is a Lawyer, and doth well espie,
That for such lyes an Action will not lye.
[Footnote 95: That is, Crassus's lies. G.]