Phil. We do presume so much, you have other garments.
Host. Will you intreat those too?
Theo. Your Mule must too,
To the next Town, you say 'tis near: in pitty
You cannot see this poor Boy perish.
I know ye have a better soul, we'll satisfie ye.
Host. 'Tis a strange foolish trick I have, but I cannot help it,
I am ever cozen'd with mine own commendations;
It is determin'd then I shall be robb'd too.
To make up vantage to this dozen: here Sir,
Heaven has provided ye a simple garment
To set ye off: pray keep it handsomer
Than you kept your own; and let me have it render'd,
Brush'd and discreetly folded.
Leo. I thank ye Sir.
Host. Who wants a Doublet?
2. I.
Host. Where will you have it?
2. From you Sir, if you please.
Host. Oh, there's the point, Sir.