Crassus his lies are no pernicious lies,
But pleasant fictions, hurtful unto none
But to himself; for no man counts him wise
To tell for truth that which for false is known.
He swears that Gaunt is three-score miles about,
And that the bridge at Paris on the Seine
Is of such thickness, length, and breadth throughout,
That six-score arches can it scarce sustain;
He swears he saw so great a dead man's skull
At Canterbury digg'd out of the ground,
As would contain of wheat three bushels full;
And that in Kent are twenty yeomen found,
Of which the poorest every year dispends
Five thousand pound: these and five thousand mo
So oft he hath recited to his friends,
That now himself persuades himself 'tis so.
But why doth Crassus tell his lies so rife,
Of bridges, towns, and things that have no life?
He is a lawyer, and doth well espy
That for such lies an action will not lie.