ROSENCRANTZ.
Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace: but there is,
sir, an aery of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top
of question, and are most tyrannically clapped for't: these are
now the fashion; and so berattle the common stages, — so they call
them, — that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills and
dare scarce come thither.
HAMLET.
What, are they children? who maintains 'em? How are they
escoted? Will they pursue the quality no longer than they can
sing? will they not say afterwards, if they should grow
themselves to common players, — as it is most like, if their means
are no better, — their writers do them wrong to make them exclaim
against their own succession?
