_2 C._ We were afraid our Money should be taken from us. _1 K._ Come, come, no more shuffling: I tell ye, you're all Rogues, and we'll have you hanged, you may depend on't. Come, let's take 'em to old _Cockle_'s, we're not far off, we'll keep 'em there all Night, and To-morrow-morning we'll away with 'em before the Justice. _4 C._ A very pretty Adventure. [_Exeunt._ _Scene changes to the Mill._ KING, MILLER, MARGERY, _and_ DICK, _at Supper_. _Mil._ Come, Sir, you must mend a bad Supper with a Glass of good Ale: Here's King _Harry_'s Health. _King._ With all my Heart. Come, _Richard_, here's King _Harry_'s Health; I hope you are Courtier enough to pledge me, are not you? _Dick._ Yes, yes, Sir, I'll drink the King's Health with all my Heart. _Mar._ Come, Sir, my humble Service to you, and much good may do ye with your poor Supper; I wish it had been better. _King._ You need make no Apologies. _Marg._ We are oblig'd to your Goodness in excusing our Rudeness. _Mil._ Prithee, _Margery_, don't trouble the Gentleman with Compliments. _Mar._ Lord, Husband, if one had no more Manners than you, the Gentleman would take us all for Hogs. _Dick._ Now I think the more Compliments the less Manners. _King._ I think so too. Compliments in Discourse, I believe, are like Ceremonies in Religion; the one has destroy'd all true Piety, and the other all Sincerity and Plain-dealing. _Mil._ Then a Fig for all Ceremony and Compliments too: Give us thy Hand; and let us drink and be merry. _King._ Right, honest Miller, let us drink and be merry. Come, have you got e'er a good Song? _Mil._ Ah! my singing Days are over, but my Man _Joe_ has got an excellent one; and if you have a Mind to hear it, I'll call him in. _King._ With all my Heart. _Mil._ _Joe!_ _Enter_ JOE. _Mil._ Come, _Joe_, drink Boy; I have promised this Gentleman that you shall sing him your last new Song. _Joe._ Well, Master, if you have promis'd it him, he shall have it. SONG. I. _How happy a State does the Miller possess? Who wou'd be no greater, nor fears to be less; On his Mill and himself he depends for Support, Which is better than servilely cringing at Court._ II. _What tho' he all dusty and whiten'd does go, The more he's be-powder'd, the more like a Beau; A Clown in this Dress may be honester far Than a Courtier who struts in his Garter and Star._ III. _Tho' his Hands are so dawb'd they're not fit to be seen, The Hands of his Betters are not very clean; A Palm more polite may as dirtily deal; Gold, in handling, will stick to the Fingers like Meal._ IV. _What if, when a Pudding for Dinner he lacks, He cribs, without Scruple, from other Men's Sacks; In this of right noble Examples he brags, Who borrow as freely from other Men's Bags._ V.