DITTY. Ay, ay; but what makes you so pale, Budget? There's a cup of ale at mine host Welcome's will make your nose of another colour. BUD. O Ditty, there is a nail knocked into my heart! It pricks, it pricks. GUM. Why, if you can't wrench it out, we'll send for a smith. DITTY. Has Cupid played the joiner with you, then? Who is't he has fastened to your heart with that nail? What metal is she made of, that you cannot hammer her? BUD. It is the city's beauty! DITTY. The city's beauty? who's that? One of my lord major's spaniels? GUM. I knew a bitch of that name was a very pretty dog, and would fetch and carry as nimbly as any porter in the town. BUD. What, villain, do you make a puppy of me! I'll kick you into glove-dogs, you mongrels, hell-hounds, whelps! [_Kicks them._ DITTY. Hold, good Budget, a jest is but a jest; I spoke but in jest. GUM. Nor I, indeed, Master Budget. BUD. Then I kicked you but in jest. GUM. Ay, ay, sir, we take it so; you must think, if it had been in earnest, though it had been the best man i' th' land, he had kicked his last. BUD. Had he so, slave? GUM. Yes, when he had done kicking. DIT. Good Budget, be pacified, and we'll recompense the injury we have done you with our forwardness to promote your desires and translation out of the circle of love into the wedding-ring. BUD. Thanks, kind Ditty; walk along with me, and I will show thee the sweet empress of my heart. I am appeased. [_Exeunt._ SCENE VII. _Enter_ BRISTLE _and_ JENNITING. BRIS. Yes, truly, I am one of the gentle craft, though I have got somewhat of the tailor's trade too; some hangers on--fellow-travellers, that I cannot be rid of, though, are still upon my back: they put me to foul shifts sometimes. JEN. Then you know Crispianus? BRIS. Yes, he is a saint amongst us, of whose votaries I am one, that each Monday morning liquor his altar with ale, and grease it with bacon. JEN. So you sacrifice the hog to get the bristles? BRIS. She knows my name, sure. [_Aside._] But 'tis no matter for him. Hereafter I'll know no saints but thee; be not therefore unkind, but look with a favourable aspect on him that can expect no bad influence from so benign a star. JEN. You do but flatter me; I am not so good a one as you make me. BRIS. Now, by Jove, thou art fairer than Calisto (and more like a bear), more divine than Cassiopeia! Do but consider that every sow has a ring, and will not you have one? JEN. Well, Vamp, you know how to take the length of women's feet. BRIS. Come, my Jenniting, we will have twins every year. JEN. Such as shall be christened at Saint James' tide, I warrant!