Fran. Thou art a mad companion: never staid Tom.
Tho. Let Rogues be staid that have no habitation,
A Gentleman may wander: sit thee down Frank,
And see what I have brought thee: come discover,
Open the Scene, and let the work appear.
A friend at need you Rogue is worth a million.
Fra. What hast thou there, a julip?
Hyl. He must not touch it,
'Tis present death.
Tho. Ye are an Ass, a twirepipe,
A Jeffery John bo peepe, thou mimister,
Thou mend a left-handed pack-saddle, out puppey,
My friend Frank, but a very foolish fellow:
Do'st thou see that Bottle? view it well.
Fran. I do Tom.
Tho. There be as many lives in't, as a Cat carries,
'Tis everlasting liquor.
Fran. What?
Tho. Old Sack, Boy,
Old reverend Sack, which for ought that I can read yet,
Was that Philosophers Stone the wise King Ptolomeus
Did all his wonders by.
Fran. I see no harm Tom,
Drink with a moderation.