_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[ess]._ 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[ess]._ 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 th[ee] 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.