Page 79
Scaena Quarta.
Enter second Host, and his Wife.
Host.
Let 'em have meat enough Woman, half a Hen;
There be old rotten Pilchards, put 'em off too,
'Tis but a little new anointing of 'em.
And a strong onion, that confounds the stink.
Host.
They call for more Sir.
Host.
Knock a dozen eggs down,
But then beware your wenches.
Host.
More than this too?
Host.
Worts, worts, and make 'em porridge: pop 'em up wench
But they shall pay for Cullyses.
Host.
All this is nothing;
They call for Kid and Partridge.
Host.
Well remembred,
Where's the Faulconers half dog he left?
Host.
It stinks Sir,
Past all hope that way.
Host.
Run it o'r with Garlick,
And make a Roman dish on't.
Host.
Pray ye be patient,
And get provision in; these are fine gentlemen,
And liberal gentlemen; they have unde quare
No mangey Muleters, nor pinching Posts.
That seed upon the parings of Musk-millions
And Radishes, as big and tough as Rafters:
Will ye be stirring in this business? here's your brother,
Mine old Host of Ossuna, as wise as you are,
That is, as knavish; if ye put a trick,
Take heed he do not find it.
Host.
I'll be wagging.
Host.
'Tis for your own commodity: why wenches:
Anon forsooth. within.
Hostess.
Who makes a fire there? and who gets in water?
Let Oliver goe to the Justice, and beseech his Worship
We may have two spits going; and do you hear Druce,
Let him invite his Worship, and his Wives Worship,
To the left-Meat to morrow,
Enter Bayliff.
Bayl.
Where's this Kitchen?
Hostess.
Even at the next door Signior: what old Don?
We meet but seldom.
Bayl.
Prethee be patient Hostess,
And tell me where the meat is.
Host.
Faith Master Baylie,
How have ye done? and how man?
Bayl.
Good sweet Hostess,
What shall we have to dinner?
Hostess.
How does your woman,
And a fine Woman she is, and a good Woman;
Lord, how you bear your years?
Bayl.
Is't Veal or Mutton,
Beef, Bacon, Pork, Kid, Pheasant, or all these,
And are they ready all?
Host.
The hours that have been
Between us two, the merry hours: Lord!
Bayl.
Hostess,
Dear Hostess do but hear; I am hungry.
Hostess.
Ye are merrily dispos'd Sir,
Bayl.
Monstrous hungry,
And hungry after much meat, I have brought hither
Right worshipful to pay the reckoning,
Money enough too with 'em, desire enough
To have the best meat, and of that enough too:
Come to the point sweet wench, and so I kiss thee.
Hostess.
Ye shall have any thing, and instantly
E'r you can lick your ears, Sir.
Bayl.
Portly meat,
Bearing substantial stuff, and fit for hunger
I do beseech ye Hostess first, then some light garnish,
Two Pheasants in a dish, if ye have Leverits,
Rather for way of ornament, than appetite
They may be look'd upon, or Larks: for Fish,
As there is no great need, so I would not wish ye
To serve above four dishes, but those full ones;
Ye have no Cheese of Parma?
Hostess.
Very old Sir.
Bayl,
The less will serve us, some ten pound,
Hostess.
Alas Sir,
We have not halfe these dainties.
Bayl,
Peace good Hostess,
And make us hope ye have.
Hostess.
Ye shall have all Sir,
Bay.
That may be got for money.
Enter Diego, the Host, and a Boy.
Host. Diego,
Where's your Master?
Bring me your Master, Boy: I must have liquor
Fit for the Mermydons; no dashing now child
No conjurings by candle light, I know all;
Strike me the oldest Sack, a piece that carries
Point blank to this place boy, and batters; Hostess,
I kiss thy hands through which many a round reckoning
And things of moment have had motion.
Hostess.
Still mine old Brother.
Host. Die.
Set thy Seller open,
For I must enter, and advance my Colours,
I have brought three Dons indeed wench, Dons with Duckets
And those Dons must have dainty Wine, pure Bacchus
That bleeds the life blood: what is your cure ended?
Bayl.
We shall have Meat man,
Host. Die,
Then we will have Wine man,
And Wine upon Wine, cut and drawn with Wine.
Hostess.
Ye shall have all, and more than all.
Bay.
All, well then.
Host. Die.
Away, about your business, you with her
For old acquaintance sake, to stay your stomach. Exit Ho∣stess and Bayliff.
And Boy, be you my guide, ad inferos,
For I will make a full descent in equipage.
Boy.
I'll shew you rare Wine.
Host.
Die. Stinging geer.
Boy.
Divine Sir.
Host. Die.
O divine boy, march, march my child, rare Wine boy.
Boy.
As any is in Spain Sir.
Host. Die.
Old; and strong too,
Oh my fine boy, clear too?
Boy.
As Christal Sir, and strong as truth.
Host. Die.
Away boy,
I am enamor'd, and I long for Dalliance,
Stay no where child, not for thy fathers blessing,
I charge thee not to save thy Sisters honor,
Nor to close thy Dames eies, were she a dying
Till we arrive, and for thy recompence
I will remember thee in my Will.
Boy.
Ye have said Sir, Exeunt.