Grimes.  Here, I have prickt my finger.

Tim.  Let you and I, Mr. Crackby, goe to buffitts for a bloody nose.

Crac.  No, no, you shall pardon me for that, Tim[82]; no, no; no boyes play.

Suc.  So, so; now set him in the chaires.  Hart of valour! he looks like a Mapp oth world.  Death, what are these?[83]

    Enter Musike.

Grimes.  The Town Waites whome I appointed to come and visitt us.

Suc.  ’Twas well donn:  have you ere a good song?

Tim.  Yes, they have many.

Suc.  But are they bawdy? come, sir, I see by your simpring it is you

that sings, but do not squeake like a French Organ-pipe nor make faces as if you were to sing a Dirge.  Your fellowes may goe behind the arras:  I love to see Musitions in their postures imitate those ayrey soules that grace our Cittie Theaters, though in their noats they come as short of them as Pan did of Apollo.
          
                                               [Musike.

Grimes.  Well, sir, this is indifferent Musicke, trust my judgment. 
Sing, boy.
          
                                                [A song.

Crac.  Now on my life this boy does sing as like the boy[84] at the Whitefryers as ever I heard:  how say you Captain?

Suc.  I, and the Musicks like theires:  come, Sirra, whoes your Poett?

Crac.  Some mad wag, I warrant him:  is this a new song?

Mus.  Tis the first edition, sir:  none else but we had ever coppie of it.

Suc.  But you wilbe intreated to let a gent have it?

Mus.  By no meanes; the author has sworne to the contrary, least it should grow so wonderous old and turne a Ballad.

Crac.  Well said, Captain; the tother health, Captain:  heres good wine, good Tobackoe, good everything:  had we but a good wench or two twere excellent.

Suc.  Great Alexander, does not dreame of this, I warrant yee.

Grimes.  Oh, hees fast enough; heele be ready to cast up his accounts the easier when my lady calls him.

Crac.  Come, come; who payes the Musicke?  Captain, you have my purse.

Suc.  Truths a truth from Infidell or Pagan:  I am in trust, and that’s beleife, and so it shalbe saved.  Pay the Musick? umh, where are they? let me see, how many’s of you, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6:  good, can any of you daunce?

Mus.  Daunce?  Yes, sir, we can shake our legs or soe.

Suc.  So said so don, brave ladd; come, letts have a daunce, some daunce and some play.

Mus.  Anything to please you, noble Captaine.

Suc.  Lively then, my hearts; some country Jigg or soe.  Oh those playes that I have seene of youre, with their Jiggs[85] ith tayles of them[86] like your French forces!  Death, I am a rorging (roaring?) boy; but, come, stir your shanks nimbly or Ile hough ye.  Strike up there!