--But, my dear Landlady, have a little Patience. _Land_. Patience! I scorn your Words, Sir--is this a place to trust in? tell me of Patience, that us’d to have my money before hand; come, come, pay me quickly--or old _Gregory Grimes_ house shall be too hot to hold you. _Gay_. Is’t come to this, can I not be heard? _Land_. No, Sir, you had good Clothes when you came first, but they dwindled daily, till they dwindled to this old Campaign--with tan’d coloured Lining--once red--but now all Colours of the Rain-bow, a Cloke to sculk in a Nights, and a pair of piss-burn’d shammy Breeches. Nay, your very Badge of Manhood’s gone too. _Gay_. How, Landlady! nay then, i’faith, no wonder if you rail so. _Land_. Your Silver Sword I mean--transmogrified to this two-handed Basket Hilt--this old Sir _Guy_ of _Warwick_--which will sell for nothing but old Iron. In fine, I’ll have my money, Sir, or i’faith, _Alsatia_ shall not shelter you. _Enter_ Rag. _Gay_. Well, Landlady--if we must part--let’s drink at parting; here, Landlady, here’s to the Fool--that shall love you better than I have done. [_Sighing, drinks_. _Land_. Rot your Wine--dy’e think to pacify me with Wine, Sir? [_She refusing to drink, he holds open her Jaws_, Rag _throws a Glass of Wine into her Mouth_. --What, will you force me?--no--give me another Glass, I scorn to be so uncivil to be forced, my service to you, Sir--this shan’t do, Sir. [_She drinks, he, embracing her, sings_. _Ah_, Cloris, _’.is in vain you scold, Whilst your Eyes kindle such a Fire. Tour Railing cannot make me cold, So fast as they a Warmth inspire_. _Land_. Well, Sir, you have no reason to complain of my Eyes nor my Tongue neither, if rightly understood. [_Weeps_. _Gay_. I know you are the best of Landladies, As such I drink your Health-- [_Drinks_. But to upbraid a Man in Tribulation--fie--’tis not done like a Woman of Honour, a Man that loves you too. [She drinks. _Land_. I am a little hasty sometimes, but you know my good Nature. _Gay_. I do, and therefore trust my little wants with you. I shall be rich again--and then, my dearest Landlady-- _Land_. Wou’d this Wine might ne’er go through me, if I wou’d not go, as they say, through Fire and Water--by Night or by Day for you. [_She drinks_. _Gay_. And as this is Wine I do believe thee. [_He drinks_. _Land_. Well--you have no money in your Pocket now, I’ll warrant you-- here--here’s ten Shillings for you old _Greg’ry_ knows not of. [_Opens a great greasy purse_. _Gay_. I cannot in Conscience take it, good Faith, I cannot--besides, the next Quarrel you’ll hit me in the Teeth with it. _Land_. Nay, pray no more of that; forget it, forget it. I own I was to blame--here, Sir, you shall take it.