THE BEEFEATER. I care not for these new-fangled plays. No man can understand a word of them. They are all talk. Will you not give me a pass for The Spanish Tragedy?
THE MAN. To see The Spanish Tragedy one pays, my friend. Here are the means. [He gives him a piece of gold].
THE BEEFEATER. [overwhelmed] Gold! Oh, sir, you are a better paymaster than your dark lady.
THE MAN. Women are thrifty, my friend.
THE BEEFEATER. Tis so, sir. And you have to consider that the most open handed of us must een cheapen that which we buy every day. This lady has to make a present to a warder nigh every night of her life.
THE MAN. [turning pale] I'll not believe it.
THE BEEFEATER. Now you, sir, I dare be sworn, do not have an adventure like this twice in the year.
THE MAN. Villain: wouldst tell me that my dark lady hath ever done thus before? that she maketh occasions to meet other men?
THE BEEFEATER. Now the Lord bless your innocence, sir, do you think you are the only pretty man in the world? A merry lady, sir: a warm bit of stuff. Go to: I'll not see her pass a deceit on a gentleman that hath given me the first piece of gold I ever handled.
THE MAN. Master Warder: is it not a strange thing that we, knowing that all women are false, should be amazed to find our own particular drab no better than the rest?