Italy, the paradise of the earth and the epicure's heaven, how doth it
form our young master? It makes him to kiss his hand like an ape, cringe
his neck like a starveling, and play at hey-pass, repass, come aloft when
he salutes a man. From thence he brings the art of atheism, the art of
epicurizing, the art of whoring, the art of poisoning, the art of sodomitry.
The only probable good thing they have to keep us from utterly condemning
it is that it maketh a man an excellent courtier, a curious carpet-knight,
which is, by interpretation, a fine close lecher, a glorious hypocrite. It is
now a privy note amongst the better sort of men, when they would set a
singular mark or brand on a notorious villainy, to say, he hath been in Italy.
　　With the Dane and the Dutchman I will not encounter, for they are simple
honest men that, with Danaus' daughters, do nothing but fill bottomless tubs,
and will be drunk and snort in the midst of dinner; he hurts himself only that
goes thither; he cannot lightly be damned, for the vintners, the brewers, the
maltmen and ale-wives pray for him. Pitch and pay, they will pray all day; score
and borrow, they will wish him much sorrow.