Tut. That's all his fault,
Too bounteous minded being under age too,
A great consumer of his stock in Pippins,
Had ever a hot stomach.
Con. Come hither Onos,
Will you love me for this fine Apple?
Onos. We.
Con. And will ye be rul'd by me sometimes?
Onos. 'Faith I will.
Con. That's a good boy.
Unc. Pray give not the child so much fruit,
He's of a raw Complexion.
Euph. You Monsieur hard eg[g]e,
Do you remember me? Do you remember
When you and your Consort travell'd through Hungary?
Con. He's in that circuit still.
Euph. Do you remember
The cantell of immortal Cheese ye carried with ye,
The half cold [C]abbedge in a leather Sachell,
And those invincible Eggs that would lye in your bowells
A fortnight together, and then turn to bedstaves;
Your sowre milk that would choak an Irish man,
And bread was bak'd in Cæsars time for the Army?