Waspe. How now, friends! what’s here to do?
Filch. Two-pence apiece, sir, the best motion in the Fair.
Waspe. I believe you lie; if you do, I’ll have my money again, and beat you.
Mrs. Lit. Numps is come!
Waspe. Did you see a master of mine come in here, a tall young ’squire of Harrow o’ the Hill, master Bartholomew Cokes?
Filch. I think there be such a one within.
Waspe. Look he be, you were best: but it is very likely: I wonder I found him not at all the rest. I have been at the Eagle, and the Black Wolf, and the Bull with the five legs and two pizzles:—he was a calf at Uxbridge fair two years agone—and at the dogs that dance the morrice, and the hare of the Tabor; and mist him at all these! Sure this must needs be some fine sight that holds him so, if it have him.
Cokes. Come, come, are you ready now?
Leath. Presently, sir.