May. Faith, that I do, Sir Harry, as well as any man; if my country will but let me live by it, that's all I desire.
Fust. Mr Mayor seems to have got himself sober very suddenly.
Trap. Yes, so would you too, I believe, if you had been scolded at by your wife as long as he has; but if you think that is not reason enough, he may be drunk still, for any reason I see to the contrary: pray, sir, act this scene as if you was drunk.
Fust. Nay, I must confess, I think it quite out of character the mayor to be once sober during the whole election.
Tank. [drunk.] A man that won't get drunk for his country is a rascal.
May. So he is, noble squire; there's no honesty in a man that won't be drunk—A man that won't drink is an enemy to the trade of the nation.
Sir H. Those were glorious days when honest English hospitality flourished; when a country gentleman could afford to make his neighbours drunk, before your damned French fashions were brought over. Why, Mr Mayor, would you think it? there are many of these courtiers who have six starved footmen behind a coach, and not half a hogshead of wine in their house; why, how do you think all the money is spent?
May. Faith, I can't tell.
Sir H. Why, in houses, pictures, lace, embroidery, nick-nacks, Italian singers, and French tumblers; and those who vote for them will never get a dinner of them after the election is over.
May. But there is a thought comes often into my head, which is this; if these courtiers be turned out, who shall succeed them?