Enter Nurse and Tobie.
Nur. Oh 'tis a sad time, all the burnt wine is [drunke] Nic.
Tob. We may thank your dry chaps for't, the Canarie's gone too
No substance for a sorrowful mind to work upon,
I cannot mourn in beer, if she should walk now
As discontented spirits are wont to do.
Nur. And meet us in the Cellar.
Tob. What fence have we with single beer against her?
What heart can we defie the Devil with?
Nur. The March beer's open.
Tob. A fortification of March beer will do well,
I must confess 'tis a most mighty Armor,
For I presume I cannot pray.
Nur. Why Nicolas?
Tob. We Coachmen have such tumbling faiths, no prayrs
Can go an even pace.
Nur. Hold up your candle.