Over. What pity ’tis, so civil a young man should haunt this debauched company? here’s the bane of the youth of our time apparent. A proper penman, I see’t in his countenance, he has a good clerk’s look with him, and I warrant him a quick hand.
Moon. A very quick hand, sir.
[Exit.
Edg. [whispering with Nightingale and Ursula.] All the purses, and purchase, I give you to-day by conveyance, bring hither to Ursula’s presently. Here we will meet at night in her lodge, and share. Look you choose good places for your standing in the Fair, when you sing, Nightingale.
Urs. Ay, near the fullest passages; and shift them often.
Edg. And in your singing, you must use your hawk’s eye nimbly, and fly the purse to a mark still, where ’tis worn, and on which side; that you may give me the sign with your beak, or hang your head that way in the tune.
Urs. Enough, talk no more on’t: your friendship, masters, is not now to begin. Drink your draught of indenture, your sup of covenant, and away: the Fair fills apace, company begins to come in, and I have ne’er a pig ready yet.
Knock. Well said! fill the cups, and light the tobacco: let’s give fire in the works, and noble vapours.
Edg. And shall we have smocks, Ursula, and good whimsies, ha!
Urs. Come, you are in your bawdy vein!—the best the Fair will afford, Zekiel, if bawd Whit keep his word.—