Mountchensey. 
Pursue the project, scholler:  what we can do
To help indeavour, join our lives thereto!

[Exeunt.]

ACT II.

Scene I. Waltham:  The house of Banks.

[Enter Banks, Sir John and Smug.]

Banks.  Take me with you, good Sir John!  A plague on thee, Smug, and thou touchest liquor, thou art founderd straight.  What, are your brains always water-mills? must they ever run round?

Smug.  Banks, your ale is a Philistine fox; z’hart, there’s fire i’th tail on’t; you are a rogue to charge us with Mugs i’th rereward.  A plague of this wind; O, it tickles our catastrophe.

Sir John.  Neighbour Banks of Waltham, and Goodman Smug, the honest Smith of Edmonton, as I dwell betwixt you both at Enfield, I know the taste of both your ale houses, they are good both, smart both.  Hem, Grass and hay! we are all mortal; let’s live till we die, and be merry; and there’s an end.

Banks. 
Well said, Sir John, you are of the same humor still; and doth
the water run the same way still, boy?

Smug.  Vulcan was a rogue to him; Sir John, lock, lock, lock fast, Sir John; so, sir John.  I’ll one of these years, when it shall please the Goddesses and the destinies, be drunk in your company; that’s all now, and God send us health:  shall I swear I love you?

Sir John.  No oaths, no oaths, good neighbour Smug!  We’ll wet our lips together and hug; Carrouse in private, and elevate the hart, and the liver and the lights,—­and the lights, mark you me, within us; for hem, Grass and hay! we are all mortall, let’s live till we die, and be Merry, and there’s an end.

Banks.  But to our former motion about stealing some venison; whither go we?

Sir John.  Into the forest, neighbour Banks, into Brian’s walk, the mad keeper.

Smug. 
Z’blood!  I’ll tickle your keeper.

Banks. 
Yfaith, thou art always drunk when we have need of thee.

Smug. 
Need of me? z’hart, you shall have need of me always while
there’s iron in an Anvil.

Banks. 
Master Parson, may the Smith go, think you, being in this
taking?

Smug. 
Go?  I’ll go in spite of all the belles in Waltham.

Sir John.  The question is, good neighbour Banks—­let me see:  the Moon shines to night,—­there’s not a narrow bridge betwixt this and the forest,—­his brain will be settled ere night; he may go, he may go, neighbour Banks.  Now we want none but the company of mine host Blague at the George at Waltham; if he were here, our Consort were full.  Look where comes my good host, the Duke of Norfolk’s man! and how? and how? a hem, grass and hay! we are not yet mortall; let’s live till we die, and be merry; and there’s an end.