_Pen._ Methinks I am batten'd well of late, grown lusty, Fat, high, and kicking, thanks to the bounteous _Rugio_; And now, methinks I scorn these poor repasts, Cheese-parings, and the stinking tongues of Pilchers; But why should I remember these? they are odious, They are odious in mine eyes; the full fat dish now, The bearing dish is that I reverence, The dish an able Serving-man sweats under, And bends i' th' hams, as if the house hung on him, That dish is the dish: hang your bladder Bankets, Or halfe a dozen of Turnops and two Mushrumps, These when they breed their best, hatch but two belches; The state of a fat Turkey, the decorum He marches in with, all the train and circumstance; 'Tis such a matter, such a glorious matter, And then his sauce with Oranges and Onions, And he displaid in all parts, for such a dish now, And at my need I would betray my Father, And for a rosted Conger, all my Countrey. _Enter_ Bartello. _Bar._ What my friend _Lean-gut_, how does thy beauteous Mistriss? And where's your Master Sirrah? where's that horn-pipe? _Pen._ My Mistriss, Sir, does as a poor wrong'd Gentlewoman, Too much, heaven knows, opprest with injuries; May do and live. _Bar._ Is the old fool still jealous? _Pen._ As old fools are, and will be still the same, Sir. _Bar._ He must have cause: he must have cause. _Pen._ 'Tis true, Sir, And would he had with all my heart. _Bar._ He shall have. _Pen._ For then he had Salt to his Saffron porridge. _Bar._ Why do not [I] see thee sometime? why thou starv'd rascal? Why do not ye come to me, you precious bow-case? I keep good meat at home, good store. _Pen._ Yes Sir, I will not fail ye all next week. _Bar._ Thou art welcome, I have a secret I would fain impart to thee, But thou art so thin, the wind will blow it from thee, Or men will read it through thee. _Pen._ Wrap't up in beef Sir, In good gross beef, let all the world look on me, The English have that trick to keep intelligence. _Bar._ A wi[tt]y knave, first there's to tie your tongue up. _Pen._ Dumb as a Dog, Sir. _Bar._ Next, hark in your ear, Sirrah. _Pen._ Well, very well, excellent well: 'tis done, Sir, Say no more to me. _Bar._ Say and hold. _Pen._ 'Tis done, Sir. _Bar._ As thou lov'st butter'd eggs, swear. _Pen._ Let me kiss the Book first, But here's my hand, brave Captain. _Bar._ Look ye hold, sirrah. [_Exit._