Drunken Man.  I scent a traitor in that question.  A beastly question.  Is it not his Majesty’s birthday? the day of all days in the year, on which King Charles the Second was graciously pleased to be born. (Sings.) “Great pity ’tis such days as those should come but once a year.”

Lovel.  Drunk in a morning! foh! how he stinks!

Drunken Man.  And why not drunk in a morning? canst tell, bully?

Wood.  Because, being the sweet and tender infancy of the day, methinks, it should ill endure such early blightings.

Drunken Man.  I grant you, ’tis in some sort the youth and tender nonage of the day.  Youth is bashful, and I give it a cup to encourage it. (Sings.) “Ale that will make Grimalkin prate.”—­At noon I drink for thirst, at night for fellowship, but, above all, I love to usher in the bashful morning under the auspices of a freshening stoop of liquor. (Sings.) “Ale in a Saxon rumkin then, makes valor burgeon in tall men.”—­But, I crave pardon.  I fear I keep that gentleman from serious thoughts.  There be those that wait for me in the cellar.

Wood.  Who are they?

Drunken Man.  Gentlemen, my good friends, Cleveland, Delaval, and Truby.  I know by this time they are all clamorous for me.

[Exit singing.

Wood. This keeping of open house acquaints a man with strange companions.

Enter, at another door, Three calling for HARRY FREEMAN.

Harry Freeman, Harry Freeman. 
He is not here.  Let us go look for him. 
Where is Freeman? 
Where is Harry?

[Exeunt the Three, calling for FREEMAN.

Wood. Did you ever see such gentry? (laughing.) These are they that fatten on ale and tobacco in a morning, drink burnt brandy at noon to promote digestion, and piously conclude with quart bumpers after supper to prove their loyalty.

Lovel.  Come, shall we adjourn to the Tennis Court?

Wood.  No, you shall go with me into the gallery, where I will show you the Vandyke I have purchased.  “The late King taking leave of his children.”

Lovel.  I will but adjust my dress, and attend you.

[Exit LOVEL.

John Wood. (alone.) Now universal England getteth drunk
For joy, that Charles, her monarch, is restored: 
And she, that sometime wore a saintly mask,
The stale-grown vizor from her face doth pluck,
And weareth now a suit of morris bells,
With which she jingling goes through all her towns and villages. 
The baffled factions in their houses skulk;
The commonwealthsman, and state machinist. 
The cropt fanatic, and fifth-monarchy-man,
Who heareth of these visionaries now? 
They and their dreams have ended.  Fools do sing,
Where good men yield God thanks; but politic spirits,