Mob. A collier; I work in the coal-pits.
Scrup. Lookye, gentlemen, this fellow has a trade, and the act of parliament here expresses, that we are to impress no man that has any visible means of a livelihood.
Kite. May it please your worship, this man has no visible means of a livelihood, for he works underground.
Plume. Well said, Kite; besides, the army wants miners.
Bal. Right, and had we an order of government for't, we could raise you in this and the neighbouring county of Stafford, five hundred colliers, that would run you under ground like moles, and do more service in a siege, than all the miners in the army.
Scrup. Well, friend, what have you to say for yourself?
Mob. I'm married.
Kite. Lack-a-day! so am I.
Mob. Here's my wife, poor woman.
Bal. Are you married, good woman?