Sul. Scrub!
Enter Scrub.
Scrub. Sir!
Sul. What day o'the week is this?
Scrub. Sunday, an't please your worship.
Sul. Sunday! bring me a dram; and, d'ye hear, set out the venison pasty, and a tankard of strong beer upon the hall table, I'll go to breakfast. [Going.
Dor. Stay, stay, brother, you shan't get off so; you were very naught last night, and must make your wife reparation: come, come, brother, won't you ask pardon?
Sul. For what?
Dor. For being drunk last night.
Sul. I can afford it, can't I?