Reignald. I suffer thee too long. What is to me thy country; or to thee The pleasure of our city? thou hast cows, Cattle, and beeves to feed, oves and boves; These that I keep, and in this pasture graze, Are dainty damosellas, bonny girls. If thou be’st born to hedge, ditch, thresh, and plough, And I to revel, banquet and carouse; Thou, peasant, to the spade and pickaxe, I The battoon and stiletto, think it only Thy ill, my good; our several lots are cast, And both must be contented. Robin. But when both Our services are questioned-- Reignald. Look thou to one, My answer is provided. _Enter_ Young Lionel. Robin. Farewell, musk-cat! [_Exit_. Reignald. Adieu, good cheese and onions; stuff thy guts With speck and barley-pudding for digestion; Drink whig[3.07] and sour milk, whilst I rinse my throat With Bordeaux and canary. Young Lionel. What was he? Reignald. A spy, sir; One of their hinds o’ the country, that came prying To see what dainty fare our kitchen yields, What guests we harbour, and what rule we keep, And threats to tell the old man when he comes; I think I sent him packing. Young Lionel. It was well done. Reignald. A whoreson-jackanapes, a base baboon, To insinuate in our secrets. Young Lionel. Let such keep The country, where their charge is. Reignald. So I said, sir. Young Lionel. And visit us when we command them thence, Not search into our counsels. Reignald. ’Twere not fit. Young Lionel. Who in my father’s absence should command, Save I his only son? Reignald. It is but justice. Young Lionel. For am not I now lord? Reignald. _Dominus-fac-totum_. And am not I your steward? Young Lionel. Well remembered. This night I have a purpose to be merry, Jovial and frolic. How doth our cash hold out? Reignald. The bag’s still heavy. Young Lionel. Then my heart’s still light. Reignald. I can assure you, yet ’tis pretty deep Though scarce a mile to the bottom. Young Lionel. Let me have To supper, let me see, a duck-- Reignald. Sweet rogue! Young Lionel. A capon-- Reignald. Geld the rascal! Young Lionel. Then a turkey-- Reignald. Now spit him, for an infidel! Young Lionel. Green plover, snipe, Partridge, lark, cock, and pheasant. Reignald. Ne’er a widgeon? Young Lionel. Yes; wait thyself at table. Reignald. Where I hope Yourself will not be absent. Young Lionel. Nor my friends. Reignald. We’ll have them then in plenty. Young Lionel. Caviare, sturgeon, anchoves, pickle-oysters; yes, And a potato pie; besides all these, What thou think’st rare and costly. Reignald. Sir, I know What’s to be done; the stock that must be spent Is in my hands, and what I have to do I will do suddenly. Young Lionel. No butcher’s meat; Of that beware in any case.