BUNG. [_To some one within._] I'll be with you presently. Master, can you give me a groat and sixpence for a twopence. WEL. Who is't for? BUNG. For a couple of strangers i' th' King's Head; they have sat preaching this two hours over two cans, and called me rogue and rascal for not giving attendance, and setting a chamber-pot for 'um. They've twopence to pay. WEL. Then thou'dst have me give 'um eightpence to be gone, ha! BUNG. A groat and twopence for a sixpence, I mean. WEL. There 'tis; go, be nimble. [_Exit_ BUNG.] We have had but small takings to-day; men have got the squincy or stopping of the throat, I think--they drink so slowly. May it turn to the dropsy, that they may never be weary of drinking, but that every draught may but make room for two more! 'Twill never be a good world while there's any but Welsh taverns, such as sell nothing but ale and tobacco; these French and Spanish ones will be the undoing of us all; men are grown such dottrels, that they had rather give five or six shillings to be drunk, like the Spaniard, with canary, or the Frenchman, with claret, than so many pence to be foxed with their own native beer. _Enter_ BUNG. BUNG. O master, master, yonder's Ditty and Budget come in with two doxies! Ditty swears he'll have one of 'um, though she cuckold him the first night, and clap a pair of horns upon his head, that will confine him to his chamber till rutting-time come, and he shed 'um. WEL. Who are they which they're enamoured so with? BUNG. The one's Nancy Curds and the other Hanna Jenniting; Ditty and Jenniting are agreed already; now, if you'll go promote Budget's suit, and make a conclusion between him and Curds, the wedding will be kept at our house, and we shall, besides the getting by the victuals, put off the barrel of sour beer by and by. [_Exit._ WEL. Well said, Bung: the crafti'st knave alive! I should be glad to see both Budget and Ditty in the way of multiplying; all their progeny cannot choose but be friends to the black pot, and will be notable tipplers, I warrant 'um, as soon as they come to the sucking-bottle. I'll go myself and contract 'um. [_Exit._ SCENE XIV. _Enter_ BRISTLE, HEATH, GUM. BRIS. Pox o' the ugly baboon! she has got a face like a Bartholomew Fair baby, and a mouth like the whale that swallowed a whole fleet. Her fingers are rolling-pins, and her arms coal-staves! Hang her, what should women do with money, or anything that's good?