Knock. Ay, what ail they, Urse?
Urs. Ail they! they are all sippers, sippers o’ the city; they look as they would not drink off two pen’orth of bottle-ale amongst ’em.
Moon. A body may read that in their small printed ruffs.
Knock. Away, thou art a fool, Urse, and thy Mooncalf too: in your ignorant vapours now! hence! good guests, I say, right hypocrites, good gluttons. In, and set a couple o’ pigs on the board, and half a dozen of the biggest bottles afore ’em, and call Whit. [Exit Mooncalf.] I do not love to hear innocents abused; fine ambling hypocrites! and a stone puritan with a sorrel head and beard! good mouth’d gluttons; two to a pig, away.
Urs. Are you sure they are such?
Knock. O’ the right breed, thou shalt try ’em by the teeth, Urse; where’s this Whit?
Re-enter WHIT.
Whit. Behold, man, and see,
What a worthy man am ee!
With the fury of my sword,