_Jac._ Thou shalt not dye though: Boy see your Master safe delivered, He's ready to lye in. _Host._ Good night. _Jac._ Good morrow, Drink till the Cow come home, 'tis all pay'd boyes. _Lod._ A pox of Sack. _Host._ Marry [God] bless my Buts, Sack is a Jewel, 'Tis comfortable, Gentlemen. _Jac._ More Beer boy, Very sufficient single Beer. _Boy._ Here Sir. How is it Gentlemen? _Jac._ But ev'n so, so. _Host._ Go before finely _Robin_, and prepare My wife, bid her be right and streight, I come boy. And Sirrah, if they quarrel, let 'em use Their own discretions, by all means, and stir not, And he that's kill'd shall be as sweetly buried; Captain, adieu, adieu sweet bully Captain, One kiss before I dye, one kiss. _Jac._ Farewel Boy. _Host._ All my sweet boys farewel. [_Exit Host._ _Lod._ Go sleep, you are drunk. _Ja._ Come gentlemen, I'le see you at your lodging, You look not lustily, a quart more. _Lod._ No Boy. _Piso._ Get us a Torch. _Boy._ 'Tis day Sir. _Jac._ That's all one. _Piso._ Are not those the stars, thou scurvy Boy? _Lod._ Is not Charles-wain there, tell me that, there? _Jac._ Yes; I have paid 'em truly: do not vex him Sirrah. _Piso._ Confess it Boy, or as I live I'le beat Mid-night into thy brains. _Boy._ I do confess it. _Piso._ Then live, and draw more small Beer presently. _Jac._ Come Boyes, let's hug together, and be loving, And sing, and do brave things cheerly my hearts, A pox o' being sad; now could I fly And turn the world about upon my finger, Come ye shall love me, I am an honest fellow: Hang care and fortune, we are friends. _Lod._ No Captain. _Jac._ Do not you love me? I love you two dearly. _Piso._ No by no means; you are a fighting Captain, And kill up such poor people as we are, by th' dozens. _Lod._ As they kill flyes with Fox-tails, Captain. _Jac._ Well Sir. _Lod._ Me thinks now as I stand, the Captain shews To be a very mercifull young man. (And pre'thee _Piso_, let me have thy opinion). _Piso._ Then he shall have mercy, that merciful is, Or all the Painters are Apocrypha. _Jac._ I am glad you have your wits yet, will ye go? _Piso._ You had best say we are drunk. _Jac._ Ye are. _Lod._ Ye lye. _Jac._ Y'are rascals, drunken rascals. _Piso._ 'Tis sufficient. _Jac._ And now I'le tell you why, before I beat ye, You have been tampring any time these three days, Thus to disgrace me. _Piso._ That's a lye too. _Jac._ Well Sir, Yet I thank fate I have turn'd your points on you, For which I'le spare ye somewhat, half a beating. _Piso._ I'le make you fart fire Captain, by this hand, And ye provoke, do not provoke I'de wish you. _Jac._ How do you like this? _Lod._ Sure I am inchanted.