Egre. Could he not stay till the Masque was past? w'are ready. What a scurvy trick's this?
Mir. O you may vanish, perform it at some Hall, where the Citizens Wives may see't for Six-pence a piece, and a cold Supper. Come, let's go, Charles. And now, my noble Daughter, I'le sell the Tiles of my House, e're thou shalt want, Wench. Rate up your Dinner, Sir, and sell it cheap: some younger Brother will take't up in Commodities. Send you joy, Nephew Eustace; if you study the Law, keep your great Pippin-pies, they'll go far with ye.
Char. I'd have your blessing.
Bri. No, no, meet me no more. Farewel, thou wilt blast mine eyes else.
Char. I will not.
Lew. Nor send not you for Gowns.
Ang. I'll wear course Flannel first.
Bri. Come, let's go take some counsel.
Lew. 'Tis too late.
Bri. Then stay and dine; it may be we shall vex 'em. [Exeunt.