Trice. 'Faith, I doubt I am past that noble sin.
Lov. Pr'ythee, good magistrate, drink to her, and wipe sorrow from her eyes.
Trice. Right reverend, my service to you in canary. [She drinks after him, and stays at half a glass.
L. Du Lake. 'Tis a great way to the bottom; but heaven is all-sufficient to give me strength for it. [Drinks it up.] Why, God's blessing on your heart, son Trice! I hope 'tis no offence to call you son? hem!—hem!—Son Loveby, I think my son Trice and I are much of the same years: let me see, son, if nature be utterly extinct in you: Are you ticklish, son Trice? [Tickles him.
Trice. Are you ticklish, Mother Du Lake?
[Tickles her sides. She falls off her chair; he falls off his to her; they roll one over the other.
Lov. I would have all London now show me such another sight of kindness in old age. [They help each other up.] Come, a dance, a dance; call for your clerk, Justice; he shall make one, in sign of amity. Strike up, fidlers!
[They dance a round dance, and sing the tune.
Enter ISABELLA and CONSTANCE.
Isa. Are you at that sport, i'faith? Have among you, blind harpers. [She falls into the dance.