Lop.

     Good mirth do’s work so:  honest mirth,
     Now, should we have meant in earnest—­

     Bar.

     You say true neighbour.

     Lop.

     It might have bred such a distast and sowrness,
     Such fond imaginations in your Brains, Sir,
     For things thrust home in earnest.—­

     Bar.

     Very certain,
     But I know ye all for merry waggs, and ere long
     You shall know me too in another fashion,
     Though y’are pamper’d, ye shall bear part o’th’ burthen.

     Enter Amaranta, and Leandro.

     Come wife; Come bid ’em welcom; Come my Jewel: 
     And Pupil, you shall come too; ne’re hang backward,
     Come, come the woman’s pleas’d, her anger’s over,
     Come, be not bashfull.

     Am.

     What do’s he prepare here? 
     Sure there’s no meat i’th’ house, at least not drest,
     Do’s he mean to mock ’em? or some new bred crotchet
     Come o’re his brains; I do not like his kindness: 
     But silence best becomes me:  if he mean foul play,
     Sure they are enough to right themselves, and let ’em,
     I’le sit by, so they beat him not to powder.

     Bar.

     Bring in the meat there, ha?  Sit down dear neighbour,
     A little meat needs little Complement,
     Sit down I say.

     Am.

     What do you mean by this Sir?

     Bar.

     Convey away their weapons handsomely.

     Am.

     You know there’s none i’th’ house to answer ye,
     But the poor Girle; you know there’s no meat neither.

     Bar.

     Peace and be quiet; I shall make you smoak else,
     There’s men and meat enough, set it down formally.

     Enter Algazeirs, with dishes.

     Am.

     I fear some lewd trick, yet I dare not speak on’t.

     Bar.

     I have no dainties for ye Gentlemen,
     Nor loads of meat, to make the room smell of ’em. 
     Only a dish to every man I have dedicated,
     And if I have pleas’d his appetite.

     Lop.

     O, a Capon,
     A Bird of grace, and be thy will, I honour it.

     Die.

     For me some fortie pound of lovely Beef,
     Plac’d in a mediterranean sea of Brewis.

     Bar.

     Fall to, fall to, that we may drink and laugh after,
     Wait diligently knaves.

     Mil.

     What rare bit’s this? 
     An execution! bless me!

     Bar.

     Nay take it to ye,
     There’s no avoiding it, ’tis somewhat tough Sir,
     But a good stomach will endure it easily,
     The sum is but a thousand duckets Sir.