Hum. The Devil cannot stay her, she'l on't, eat an egg now, and then we must away.
Short. I am gaul'd already, yet I will pray, may London wayes from henceforth be full of holes, and Coaches crack their wheels, may zealous Smiths so housel all our Hackneys, that they may feel compunction in their feet, and tire at High-gate, may it rain above all Almanacks till Carriers sail, and the Kings Fish-monger ride like Bike Arion upon a Trout to London.
Hum. At S. Albanes, let all the Inns be drunk, not an Host sober to bid her worship welcom.
Short. Not a Fiddle, but all preach't down with Puritans; no meat but Legs of Beef.
Hum. No beds but Wool-Packs.
Short. And those so crammed with Warrens of starved Fleas that bite like Bandogs; let Mims be angry at their S. Bel-Swagger, and we pass in the heat on't and be beaten, beaten abominably, beaten horse and man, and all my Ladies linnen sprinkled with suds and dish-water.
Short. Not a wheel but out of joynt.
Enter Roger laugh-ing.
Hum. Why dost thou laugh?
Rog. There's a Gentleman, and the rarest Gentleman, and makes the rarest sport.