Non.  How now! what have you there, sirrah?

Tob.  An’t please your worship, ’tis my water.  I had a spice o’the new disease here i’the house; and so carried it to master doctor.

Non.  Well; and what did he say to you?

Tob.  He told me very sad news, an’ please you:  I am somewhat bashful to speak on’t.

Isa.  Out with it, man.

Tob.  Why, truly, he told me, the party that owned the water was with child.

Isa.  I told you so, uncle.

Non.  To my best remembrance, I never heard of such a thing before.

Tob.  I never stretch out myself to snap my whip, but it goes to the heart of me.

Isa.  Alas, poor Toby!

Non.  Begone, and put off your livery, sirrah!—­You shall not stay a minute in my service.

Tob.  I beseech your good worship, be good to me; ’twas the first fault I ever committed in this kind.  I have three poor children by my wife; and if you leave me to the wide world, with a new charge upon myself—­

Non.  Begone!  I will not hear a word.

Tob.  If I must go, I’ll not go alone:  Ambrose Tinis, the cook, is as bad as I am.

Non.  I think you’ll make me mad.  Call the rascal hither!  I must account with him on another score, now I think on’t.

Enter AMBROSE TINIS.

Non.  Sirrah, what made you send a pheasant with one wing to the table yesterday?

Amb.  I beseech your worship to pardon me; I longed for’t.

Isa.  I feared as much.

Amb.  And I beseech your worship let me have a boy, to help me in the kitchen; for I find myself unable to go through with the work.  Besides, the doctor has warned me of stooping to the fire, for fear of a mischance.

Non.  Why, are you with child, sirrah?

Amb.  So he tells me; but, if I were put to my oath, I know not that ever I deserved for’t.

Non.  Still worse and worse.  And here comes Setstone groaning.

Enter SETSTONE.

Set.  O, sir!  I have been so troubled with swooning fits; and have so longed for cherries!

Non.  He’s poopt too.

Isa.  Well, this is not the worst yet:  I suspect something more than I will speak of.

Non.  What dost thou suspect, ha!

Isa.  Is not your lordship with child, too?

Non.  Who, I with child! marry, heaven forbid!  What dost thou see by me, to ground it on?

Isa.  You’re very round of late;—­that’s all, sir.

Non.  Round! that’s only fat, I hope.  I have had a very good stomach of late, I’m sure.

Isa.  Alas, and well you may;—­You eat for two, sir.

Non.  Setstone, look upon me, and tell me true:  Do you observe any alteration in me?