Mar. Sir ’tis so late, and our entertainment (meaning our Posset) by this is grown so cold, that ’twere an unmannerly part longer to hold you from your rest:  let what the house has be at your command Sir.

Wel. Sweet rest be with you Lady; and to you what you desire too.

Abig. It should be some such good thing like your self then. [Exeunt.

Wel. Heaven keep me from that curse, and all my issue.  Good night Antiquity.

Rog. Solamen Miseris socios habuisse Doloris:  but I alone.

Wel. Learned Sir, will you bid my man come to me? and requesting a greater measure of your learning, good night, good Master Roger.

Rog. Good Sir, peace be with you. [Exit Roger.

Wel. Adue dear Domine.  Half a dozen such in a Kingdom would make a man forswear confession:  for who that had but half his wits about him, would commit the Counsel of a serious sin to such a cruel Night-cap?  Why how now shall we have an Antick? [Enter Servant. Whose head do you carry upon your shoulders, that you jole it so against the Post?  Is’t for your ease?  Or have you seen the Celler?  Where are my slippers Sir?

Ser. Here Sir.

Wel. Where Sir? have you got the pot Verdugo? have you seen the Horses Sir?

Ser. Yes Sir.

Wel. Have they any meat?

Ser. Faith Sir, they have a kind of wholesome Rushes, Hay I cannot call it.

Wel. And no Provender?

Ser. Sir, so I take it.

Wel. You are merry Sir, and why so?

Ser. Faith Sir, here are no Oats to be got, unless you’l have ’em in Porredge:  the people are so mainly given to spoon-meat:  yonder’s a cast of Coach-mares of the Gentlewomans, the strangest Cattel.

Wel. Why?

Ser. Why, they are transparent Sir, you may see through them:  and such a house!

Wel. Come Sir, the truth of your discovery.

Ser. Sir, they are in tribes like Jewes:  the Kitchin and the Dayrie make one tribe, and have their faction and their fornication within themselves; the Buttery and the Landry are another, and there’s no love lost; the chambers are intire, and what’s done there, is somewhat higher than my knowledge:  but this I am sure, between these copulations, a stranger is kept vertuous, that is, fasting.  But of all this the drink Sir.

Wel. What of that Sir?

Ser. Faith Sir, I will handle it as the time and your patience will give me leave.  This drink, or this cooling Julip, of which three spoonfuls kills the Calenture, a pint breeds the cold Palsie.

Wel. Sir, you bely the house.

Ser. I would I did Sir.  But as I am a true man, if ’twere but one degree colder, nothing but an Asses hoof would hold it.