_Enter_ Mistriss Merry-thought _and_ Michael. _Mist. mer. Micke_ My Boy? _Mich._ I forsooth Mother. _Mist. mer._ Be merry _Micke_, we are at home now: where I warrant you, yo[u] shall find the house flung out of the windows: Hark: hey dogs, hey, this is the old world y'faith with my Husband: [if I] get in amo[n]g them, I'll play them such [a] les[s]on, that they shall have little list to come scraping hither again. Why Master _Merry-thought_, Husband, _Charles Merry-thought_. _Old Mer. within._ If you will sing, and dance, and laugh, and hollow, and laugh again: and then cry there boys there: why then, One, two, three, and four, We shall be merry within this hour. _Mist. Mer._ Why _Charles_ do you not know your own natural wife? I say open the door, and turn me out those mangy companions; 'tis more than time that they were fellow like with you: you are a Gentleman _Charles_, and an old man, and father of two children; and I my self, (though I say it) by my mothers side, Niece to a Worshipful Gentleman, and a Conductor, he has been three times in his Majesties service at _Chester_, and is now the fourth time, God bless him, and his charge upon his journey. Old Mer. _Go from my window, love go:_ _Go from my window my dear,_ _The wind and the rain will drive you back again,_ _You cannot be lodged here._ Hark you Mistriss _Merri-thought_, you that walk upon Adventures, and forsake your Husband, because he sings with never a penny in his purse; what shall I think my self the worse? Faith no, I'll be merry. You come not here, here's none but Lads of mettle, lives of a hundred years, and upwards, care never drunk their bloods, nor want made them warble. Hey-ho, my heart is heavy. _Mist. Mer._ Why M. _Merri-thought_, what am I that you should laugh me to scorn thus abruptly? am I not your fellow-feeler, (as we may say) in all our miseries? your comforter in health and sickness? have I not brought you Children? are they not like you _Charles_? look upon thine own Image, hardhearted man; and yet for all this-- _Old Mer. within._ Begon, begon my juggy, my puggy, begon my love my dear. The weather is warm, 'twill do thee no harm, thou canst not be lodged here. Be merry boys, some light musick, and more wine. _Wife._ He's not in earnest, I hope _George_, is he? _Cit._ What if he be, sweet heart? _Wife._ Marry if he be _George_, I'll make bold to tell him he's an ingrant old man, to use his bed-fellow so scurvily. _Cit._ What how does he use her Honey? _Wife._ Marry come up sir sauce-box, I think you'll take his part, will you not? Lord how hot are you grown: you are a fine man an you had a fine Dog, it becomes you sweetly.