Bert. Well, I will. At length the Cheese is taken away, which scarcely pleases them, except it be rotten and full of Maggots. Then the old bearded Fellow comes again with a Trencher, and a many Circles and semi-Circles drawn upon it with Chalk, this he lays down upon the Table, with a grim Countenance, and without speaking. You would say he was some Charon. They that understand the Meaning of this lay down their Money one after another till the Trencher is fill'd. Having taken Notice of those who lay down, he reckons it up himself, and if all is paid, he gives you a Nod.
Will. But what if there should be any Thing over and above?
Bert. Perhaps he'll give it you again, and they oftentimes do so.
Will. Does no Body find fault with the Reckoning?
Bert. No Body that is wise. For they will say, what Sort of a Fellow are you? You pay no more than the rest.
Will. This is a frank Sort of Men, you are speaking of.
Bert. If any one is weary with his Journey, and desires to go to Bed as soon as he has supp'd, he is bid to stay till the rest go too.
Will. This seems to me to be Plato's City.
Bert. Then every one is shew'd to his Chamber, and truly 'tis nothing else but a Chamber, there is only a Bed there, and nothing else that you can either make Use of or steal.
Will. Are Things very clean there?