_Mill._ Rose, go, and fetch me down two Indian gowns and vizard-masks----you and I will disguise too, and be as good a mummery to them, as they to us. [_Exit_ ROSE. _Mood._ That will be most rare. _Enter Sir_ MARTIN MAR-ALL, WARNER, _Landlord, disguised like a Tony_. _Mood._ O here they come! Gentlemen maskers, you are welcome--[WARNER _signs to the music for a dance_.] He signs for a dance, I believe; you are welcome. Mr Music, strike up; I'll make one, as old as I am. _Sir John._ And I'll not be out. [_Dance._ _Lord._ Gentlemen maskers, you have had your frolic, the next turn is mine; bring two flute-glasses and some stools, ho! we'll have the ladies' healths. _Sir John._ But why stools, my lord? _Lord._ That you shall see: the humour is, that two men at a time are hoisted up: when they are above, they name their ladies, and the rest of the company dance about them while they drink: This they call the frolic of the altitudes. _Mood._ Some highlander's invention, I'll warrant it. _Lord._ Gentlemen-maskers, you shall begin. [_They hoist Sir_ MART. _and_ WARN. _Sir John._ They point to Mrs Millisent and Mrs Christian, _A Lou's touche! touche!_ [_While they drink, the company dances and sings: They are taken down._ _Mood._ A rare toping health this: Come, Sir John, now you and I will be in our altitudes. _Sir John._ What new device is this, trow? _Mood._ I know not what to make on't. [_When they are up, the company dances about them: They dance off. Tony dances a jigg._ _Sir John._ Pray, Mr Fool, where's the rest of your company? I would fain see 'em again. [_To Tony._ _Land._ Come down, and tell them so, Cudden. _Sir John._ I'll be hanged if there be not some plot in it, and this fool is set here to spin out the time. _Mood._ Like enough! undone! undone! my daughter's gone! let me down, sirrah. _Land._ Yes, Cudden. _Sir John._ My mistress is gone, let me down first. _Land._ This is the quickest way, Cudden. [_He offers to pull down the stools._ _Sir John._ Hold! hold! or thou wilt break my neck. _Land._ An you will not come down, you may stay there, Cudden. [_Exit Landlord, dancing._ _Mood._ O scanderbag villains! _Sir John._ Is there no getting down? _Mood._ All this was long of you, Sir Jack. _Sir John._ 'Twas long of yourself, to invite them hither. _Mood._ O you young coxcomb, to be drawn in thus! _Sir John._ You old Scot you, to be caught so sillily! _Mood._ Come but an inch nearer, and I'll so claw thee. _Sir John._ I hope I shall reach to thee. _Mood._ An 'twere not for thy wooden breast-work there---- _Sir John._ I hope to push thee down from Babylon.