_Burr_. You are very merry with my wardrobe; but, till I am provided of a better, I am resolved to receive all visits in this truckle-bed. _Fail_. Then will I first scotch the wheels of it, that it may not run: Thou hast cattle enough in it to carry it down stairs, and break thy neck; 'tis got a yard nearer the door already. _Enter Boy_. _Boy_. Sir, Mr Bibber your tailor's below, and desires to speak with you. _Fail_. He's an honest fellow, and a fashionable; he shall set thee forth, I warrant thee. _Burr_. Ay; but where's the money for this, dear heart? _Fail_. Well, but what think you of being put into a suit of clothes without money? [_Aside_. _Burr_. You speak of miracles. _Fail_. Do you not know Will Bibber's humour? _Burr_. Pr'ythee, what have I to do with his humour? _Fail_. Break but a jest, and he'll beg to trust thee for a suit; nay, he will contribute to his own destruction, and give thee occasions to make one. He has been my artificer these three years; and, all the while, I have lived upon his favourable apprehension. Boy, conduct him up. [_Exit Boy._ _Burr_. But what am I the better for this? I ne'er made jest in all my life. _Fail._ A bare clinch will serve the turn; a car-wichet, a quarter-quibble, or a pun. _Burr_. Wit from a Low Country soldier! One, that has conversed with none but dull Dutchmen these ten years! What an unreasonable rogue art thou? why, I tell thee, 'tis as difficult to me, as to pay him ready money. _Fail_. Come, you shall be ruled for your own good; I'll throw the clothes over you to help meditation. And, upon the first opportunity, start you up, and surprise him with a jest. _Burr_. Well, I think this impossible to be done: but, however, I'll attempt. [_Lies down_, FAILER _covers him_. _Fail_. Husht! he's coming up. _Enter BIBBER_. _Bib_. 'Morrow, Mr Failer: What, I warrant you think I come a dunning now? _Fail_. No, I vow to gad, Will; I have a better opinion of thy wit, than to think thou would'st come to so little purpose. _Bib_. Pretty well that: No, no, my business is to drink my morning's-draught in sack with you. _Fail_. Will not ale serve thy turn, Will? _Bib_. I had too much of that last night; I was a little disguised, as they say. _Fail_. Why disguised? Hadst thou put on a clean band, or washed thy face lately? Those are thy disguises, Bibber. _Bib_. Well, in short, I was drunk; damnably drunk with ale; great hogan-mogan bloody ale: I was porterly drunk, and that I hate of all things in nature. _Burr, rising_.] And of all things in nature I love it best. _Bib_. Art thou there, i'faith? and why, old boy? _Burr_. Because, when I am porterly drunk, I can carry myself. _Bib_. Ha, ha, boy. _Fail_. This porter brings sad news to you, Will; you must trust him for a suit of clothes, as bad as 'tis: Come, he's an honest fellow, and loves the king. _Bib_. Why, it shall be my suit to him, that I may trust him. _Burr_. I grant your suit, sir.