Hig. For one leg of a goose now would I venture a limb boys,
I love a fat goose, as I love allegiance,
And———upon the Boors, too well they know it,
And therefore starve their poultry.
Ger. To be married To Vandunks Daughter?
Hig. O this [pretious] Merchant:
What sport he will have! but hark you brother Prig,
Shall we do nothing in the foresaid wedding?
There's mony to be got, and meat I take it,
What think ye of a morise?
Prig. No, by no means,
That goes no further than the street, there leaves us,
Now we must think of something that must draw us
Into the bowels of it, into th' buttery,
Into the Kitchin, into the Cellar, something
That that old drunken Burgo-master loves,
What think ye of a wassel?
Hig. I think worthily.
Prig. And very fit it should be, thou, and Ferret, And Ginks to sing the Song: I for the structure, Which is the bowl.
Hig. Which must be up-sey English, Strong, lusty London beer; let's think more of it.
Ger. He must not marry.
Enter Hubert.
Hub. By your leave in private, One word Sir, with ye; Gerrard: do not start me, I know ye, and he knows ye, that best loves ye: Hubert speaks to ye, and you must be Gerrard. The time invites you to it.