Coo. I have a trick for thee too,
And a rare trick, and I have done it for thee.
Yeo. What's that good master?
Coo. 'Tis a sacrifice.
A full Vine bending, like an Arch, and under
The blown god Bacchus, sitting on a Hogshead,
His Altar Beer: before that, a plump Vintner
Kneeling, and offring incense to his deitie,
Which shall be only this, red Sprats and Pilchers.
But. This when the Table's drawn, to draw the wine on.
Coo. Thou hast it right, and then comes thy Song, Butler.
Pant. This will be admirable.
Yeo. Oh Sir, most admirable.
Coo. If you'l have the pasty speak, 'tis in my power,
I have fire enough to work it; come, stand close,
And now rehearse the Song, we may be perfect,
The drinking Song, and say I were the Brothers.
The drinking SONG.
Drink to day and drown all sorrow.
You shall perhaps not do it to morrow.
Best while you have it use your breath,
There is no drinking after death.