_And_. Shall Master _Eustace_ have all? _Bri_. All, all, he knowes how To use it, hee's a man bred in the world, T'other ith' heavens: my Masters, pray be wary, And serviceable; and Cooke see all your sawces Be sharp and poynant in the pallat, that they may Commend you; looke to your roast and bak'd meates hansomly, And what new kickshawes and delicate made things-- Is th' musick come? _But_. Yes Sir, th'are here at breakfast. _Bri_. There will be a Masque too, you must see this roome clean, And _Butler_ your doore open to all good fellowes, But have an eye to your plate, for their be Furies; My _Lilly_ welcome, you are for the linnen, Sort it, and see it ready for the table, And see the bride-bed made, and looke the cords be Not cut asunder by the Gallants too, There be such knacks abroad; hark hither, _Lilly_, To morrow night at twelve a clock, Ile suppe w'ye, Your husband shall be safe, Ile send ye meat too, Before I cannot well slip from my company. _And_. Will ye so, will you so, Sir? Ile make one to eate it, I may chance make you stagger too. _Bri_. No answer, _Lilly_? _Lil_. One word about the linnen; Ile be ready, And rest your worships still. _And_. And Ile rest w'yee, You shall see what rest 'twill be: Are ye so nimble? A man had need have ten paire of eares to watch you. _Bri_. Wait on your Master, for I know he wants ye, And keep him in his studie, that the noise Do not molest him: I will not faile my _Lilly_-- Come in sweet hearts, all to their several duties. _Exeunt._ _And_. are you kissing ripe, Sir? Double but my farm And kisse her till thy heart ake; these smocke vermin, How eagerly they leap at old mens kisses, They lick their lipps at profit, not at pleasure; And if't were not for th' scurvie name of Cuckold, He should lye with her, I know shee'l labour at length With a good lordship. If he had a wife now, But that's all one, lie fit him: I must up Unto my Master, hee'l be mad with studie-- _Exit_. _Actus III_. _Scoena III_. Charles. 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 stirres and motions. What Planet rules this house? _Enter_ Andrew. Who's there? _And_. Tis I Sir faithful _Andrew_. _Cha_. Come neere And lay thine eare downe, hear'st no noise? _And_. The Cookes Are chopping hearbs and mince meat to make pies, And breaking Marrow-bones-- _Char_. Can they set them againe? _And_. Yes, yes, in brothes and puddings, and they grow stronger For the' use of any man. _Cha_. What speaking's that? Sure there is a massacre. _And_. Of Pigs and Geese Sir, And Turkeys for the spit. The Cookes are angry Sirs, And that makes up the medly. _Cha_. Do they thus At every dinner? I nere mark'd them yet, Nor know who is a Cook. _And_. Th'are sometimes sober, And then they beat as gently as a Tabor.