Accut.  Marrie thus, there are[316] great revels & shews preparde to beautifie the nuptials of Lentulus, and Tully, in which the Cittizens have the least share; now, would but you and some others that I shall collect,

    Joyne hands with me in some queint jest,
    Our shew shall deserve grace, and brave the rest.

Host, I have thee, brave spirit, tha’rt of the true seede of Troy, lets be merrie and wise, merrie hearts live long; mine Host, my brave Host, with his neighbor Cornutus shall bee two of the Maskers, and the Morrice shall be daunc’d.

Cor.  Not so, mine Host.  I dare not doe so, t’will distemper my wife, my house will be unquiet; mum, mum, I know the world, well enough.

Host.  Thou shall goe, saies mine Host, merrie hearts live long; welcome, bullie! mine Host shall make one, so shall my Cornutus, for if I say the word the mouse shall be dun.

    Enter Bos with Porters.

Porters.  Save ye mine Host, heeres a parcell of Corne was directed to be delivered at your house.

Host.  What ware, my little Atlas, what ware is it?

2 Por.  I know not, but i’me sure tis as heavie as a horse and—­

1 Por.  I thinke, tis a barrel of oyle, for it spurg’d at my backe.

Bos.  It was oyle, for I drew the Tap.

Grac.  What, Bos, what mak’st thou heere?

Acc.  Oh, chara[317] deum soboles, magnum bovis incrementum. Bos, art there, there?

Bos.  As sure as you are there, Signior.

Grac. Bos, will ye not forsake your Cabbin?

Bos.  Oh sir, he that has not a tilde house must bee glad of a thatch house.  May I crave a suite of you, signior?

Grac.  What suit, Bos?

Bos.  What you please, beggars must not chuse.

Accut. Bos is growne misticall, hee’s too dark.

Bos.  I speake Hebrew indeede, like Adam and Eve, before they fel to spinning; not a rag.

Grac.  What, naked, Bos?

Bos.  As ye see, will ye heare my suite, signior?

Gra.  Drunk, & his cloathes stoln, what theef would do it?

Bos.  Any theefe, sir, but no true[318] man.

Gra.  Wel, Bos, to obtaine a suit at my handes, and to doe some pennance for your fault, you shall heere maintaine an argument in the defence of drunkennes.  Mine Host shall heere it, ile be your opponent, Acutus moderator:  wilt thou doe it?

Host.  A mad merrie grig;[319] all good spirits; wilt thou doe it, Bos?

Bos.  Ile doo’t.

Grac.  Seate yee, heres my place; now, Bos, propound.

Bos.  Drunkenness is a vertue.