Enter Old Merry-thought.
Old Mer. Nutmegs and Ginger, Cinamon and Cloves,
And they gave me this jolly red Nose.
Mist. Mer. If you would consider your estate, you would have little list to sing, I-wisse.
Old Mer. It should never be consider'd, while it were an estate, if I thought it would spoil my singing.
Mist. Mer. But how wilt thou do Charles, thou art an old man, and thou canst not work, and thou hast not forty shillings left, and thou eatest good meat, and drinkest good drink, and laughest?
Old Mer. And will doe.
Mist. Mer. But how wilt thou come by it Charles?
Old Mer. How? why how have I done hitherto these forty years? I never came into my Dining-room, but at eleven and six a clock, I found excellent meat and drink a'th' Table: my Cloaths were never worn out, but next morning a Tailor brought me a new suit; and without question it will be so ever! Use makes perfectness. If all should fail, it is but a little straining my self extraordinary, and laugh my self to death.
Wife. It's a foolish old man this: is not he George?
Cit. Yes Cunny.