Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit,
There is no cure 'gainst age but it.
It helps the head-ach, cough and tissick,
And is for all diseases Physick.
Then let us swill boyes for our health,
Who drinks well, loves the common-wealth.
And he that will to bed go sober,
Falls with the leaf still in October.
Well have you born your selves; a red Deer Pye, Boyes,
And that no lean one, I bequeath your vertues;
What friends hast thou to day? no citizens?
Pant. Yes Father, the old Crew.
Coo. By the mass true wenches:
Sirrah, set by a chine of Beef, and a hot Pasty,
And let the Joll of Sturgeon be corrected:
And do you mark Sir, stalk me to a Pheasant,
And see if you can shoot her in the Sellar.
Pant. God a mercy Lad, send me thy roaring bottles,
And with such Nectar I will see 'em fill'd,
That all thou speak'st shall be pure Helicon.
Enter Latorch.
Monsieur Latorch? what news with him? Save you.
Lat. Save you Master, save you Gentlemen,
You are casting for this preparation;
This joyfull supper for the royal Brothers:
I'm glad I have met you fitly, for to your charge
My bountifull brave Butler, I must deliver
A Bevie of young Lasses, that must look on
This nights solemnity, and see the two Dukes,
Or I shall lose my credit; you have Stowage?
But. For such freight I'le find room, and be your servant.