Cit. Peace Nell, let Rafe alone.
Tapst. Master, the reckoning is not paid.
Rafe. Right courteous Knight, who for the orders sake
Which thou hast tane, hang'st out the holy Bell,
As I this flaming Pestle bear about,
We render thanks to your puissant self,
Your beauteous Lady, and your gentle Squires,
For thus refreshing of our wearied limbs,
Stifned with hard atchievements in wild Desart.
Tapst. Sir, there is twelve shillings to pay.
Rafe. Thou merry Squire Tapstero, thanks to thee,
For comforting our souls with double Jug,
And if adventurous Fortune prick thee forth,
Thou jovial Squire, to follow feats of Arms,
Take heed thou tender every Ladies cause,
Every true Knight, and every Damsel fair
But spill the blood of treacherous Sarazens,
And false inchanters, that with Magick spels,
Have done to death full many a noble Knight.
Host. Thou valiant Knight of the burning Pestle, give ear to me, there is twelve shillings to pay, and as I am a true Knight, I will not bate a penny.
Wife. George, I prethee tell me, must Rafe pay twelve shillings now?
Cit. No, Nel, no, nothing but the old Knight is merry with Rafe.
Wife. O is't nothing else? Rafe will be as merry as he.
Rafe. Sir Knight, this mirth of yours becomes you well,
But to requite this liberal courtesie,
If any of your Squires will follow Arms,
He shall receive from my Heroick hand
A Knig[h]thood, by the virtue of this Pestle.