_Host._ Friend Will! Twill tell thee--the cavaliers drink lustily, and of claret and sherris with spice, whereas, it is true, the elect chiefly do affect ale. But, O Will! your cavalier--not to speak of my keeping never a serving wench honest for a month, and I have daughters now grown--your best cavalier would ever pull out a long embroidered purse, with one gold piece in it, regarding which he would briskly swing it round, and jerking it together, replace in his doublet, saying between his hiccups, "Prithee, sweet Spigot!" or it may he, "Jolly Master Gurton! chalk it up; when the king hath his own again, I will repay thee;" or "I will go coin it from Noll's ruby nose," and would ride away singing, and in a fortnight the poor gentleman would surely be slain. And, as for your worst kind of cavalier, when I did gently remind him, he would swear and draw his rapier and make a fearful pass near my belly--that I was glad to see him depart with a skinful of mine own wine unpaid for. Moreover, Master Will, an he were handsome and a moon-raker, my wife, that is now at rest, would ever take his part, and cry shame on me for a cuckoldy villain to teaze a sweet, loyal gentleman so, that would pay when a could--moreover-- _Will._ Hold! Thy reasons are sufficient--Thou art, worthy Hezekiah! become a saint, to escape martyrdom. Methinks I see the gallant foin at thy belly. [_Draws his sword and makes a feint at the Host._] Sa! sa! _Host._ Have a care--[_William makes feints._] _Will._ I shall die! Gadzookers! thus, was it thus!--and thy wife--a cuckoldy villain--merely a figure of speech though, Master Gurton! Eh? Thou didst not suspect? _Host._ Wilt thou be quiet; I see no jest. _Will._ Nay, I'll be bound not. Sa! Sa! _Host._ Laugh an thou likest; but put up thy toasting-iron. _Will._ Well, thou hast reason for thanksgiving. But I think thy wife was right, if the poor gentleman's thrust was drunken, 'twas a compliment to thy wine. A scurvy rogue to ask for his money when he was poor, and thy wine did affect him. _Host._ But to speak seriously, good Will, what bringeth thee here? Who is thy master! Can I assist thee in anything? _Will._ Well, I pity thee, and will say no more. My master is young Arthur Walton. He hath returned. He gave up the fortune to his brother Basil. _Host._ I thought he was settled abroad. _Will._ No! no! He is here, and now he wanteth assistance from his brother; for we are in some present straits, and this Basil will have nought to say to him. What I shall want of thee is information of the family; and mayhap thy daughter will have to see Mistress Florence for us with a message. [_Enter TAPSTER and two or three Roundhead Soldiers, L._] _Tap._ Master, master! here be soldiers quartered on us. _Will._ The Philistines be upon thee! _Host._ O Lord!----be praised. See directly and water the double ale--Tell my daughter to lock up the Trinidado tobaccos--Haste!