What is’t you buy?
The windmill blown down by the witch’s fart.
Or saint George, that, O! did break the dragon’s heart.
Re-enter MOONCALF, with ale and tobacco.
Edg. Master Nightingale, come hither, leave your mart a little.
Night. O my secretary! what says my secretary?
[They walk into the booth.
Over. Child of the bottles, what’s he? what’s he?
[Points to Edgworth.
Moon. A civil young gentleman, master Arthur, that keeps company with the roarers, and disburses all still. He has ever money in his purse; he pays for them, and they roar for him; one does good offices for another. They call him the secretary, but he serves nobody. A great friend of the ballad-man’s, they are never asunder.