_And._ And I'le rest w'ye, you shall see what rest 'twill be. Are ye so nimble? a man had need have ten pair of ears to watch you. _Bri._ Wait on your Master, for I know he wants ye, and keep him in his Study, that the noise do not molest him. I will not fail my _Lilly_--Come in, sweet-hearts, all to their several duties. [_Exeunt._ _And._ Are you kissing ripe, Sir? Double but my Farm, and kiss her till thy heart ake. These Smock-vermine, how eagerly they leap at old mens kisses, they lick their lips at profit, not at pleasure; and if 't were not for the scurvy name of Cuckold, he should lie with her. I know she'll labour at length with a good Lordship. If he had a Wife now, but that's all one, I'le fit him. I must up unto my Master, he'll be mad with Study-- [_Exit._ ACTUS III. SCENA III. _Enter_ Charles. _Char._ What a noise is in this house? my head is broken, within a Parenthesis, in every corner, as if the Earth were shaken with some strange Collect, there are stirs and motions. What Planet rules this house? _Enter_ Andrew. Who's there? _And._ 'Tis I, Sir, faithful _Andrew_. _Char._ Come near, and lay thine ear down; hear'st no noise? _And._ The Cooks are chopping herbs and mince-meat to make Pies, and breaking Marrow-bones-- _Char._ Can they set them again? _And._ Yes, yes, in Broths and Puddings, and they grow stronger for the use of any man. _Char._ What speaking's that? sure there's a Massacre. _And._ Of Pigs and Geese, Sir, and Turkeys, for the spit. The Cooks are angry Sirs, and that makes up the medley. _Char._ Do they thus at every Dinner? I ne're mark'd them yet, nor know who is a Cook. _And._ They're sometimes sober, and then they beat as gently as a Tabor. _Char._ What loads are these? _And._ Meat, meat, Sir, for the Kitchen, and stinking Fowls the Tenants have sent in; they'll ne'r be found out at a general eating; and there's fat Venison, Sir. _Char._ What's that? _And._ Why Deer, those that men fatten for their private pleasures, and let their Tenants starve upon the Commons. _Char._ I've read of Deer, but yet I ne'er eat any. _And._ There's a Fishmongers Boy with Caviar, Sir, Anchoves, and Potargo, to make ye drink. _Char._ Sure these are modern, very modern meats, for I understand 'em not. _And._ No more does any man from Caca merda, or a substance worse, till they be greas'd with Oyl, and rubb'd with Onions, and then flung out of doors, they are rare Sallads. _Char._ And why is all this, prethee tell me, _Andrew_? are there any Princes to dine here to day? by this abundance sure there should be Princes; I've read of entertainment for the gods at half this charge; will not six Dishes serve 'em? I never had but one, and that a small one. _And._Your Brother's marri'd this day; he's marri'd your younger Brother _Eustace_. _Char._ What of that? _And._ And all the Friends about are bidden hither; there's not a Dog that knows the house, but comes too. _Char._ Marri'd! to whom?