Bib. 'Morrow, Mr Failer: What, I warrant you think I come a dunning now?
Fail. No, I vow to gad, Will; I have a better opinion of thy wit, than to think thou would'st come to so little purpose.
Bib. Pretty well that: No, no, my business is to drink my morning's-draught in sack with you.
Fail. Will not ale serve thy turn, Will?
Bib. I had too much of that last night; I was a little disguised, as they say.
Fail. Why disguised? Hadst thou put on a clean band, or washed thy face lately? Those are thy disguises, Bibber.
Bib. Well, in short, I was drunk; damnably drunk with ale; great hogan-mogan bloody ale: I was porterly drunk, and that I hate of all things in nature.
Burr, rising.] And of all things in nature I love it best.
Bib. Art thou there, i'faith? and why, old boy?
Burr. Because, when I am porterly drunk, I can carry myself.