Sly. Nay, rather that I work upon you, coz.
Sinklo. We stayed for you at supper last night at my cousin Honeymoon’s, the woollen-draper. After supper we drew cuts for a score of apricocks, the longest cut still to draw an apricock: by this light, ’twas Mistress Frank Honeymoon’s fortune still to have the longest cut: I did measure for the women.—What be these, coz? 32
Enter D. Burbadge,[332] H. Condell, and J. Lowin.
Sly. The players.—God save you!
Burbadge. You are very welcome.
Sly. I pray you, know this gentleman, my cousin; ’tis Master Doomsday’s son, the usurer.
Condell. I beseech you, sir, be covered.
Sly. No,[333] in good faith, for mine ease: look you, my hat’s the handle to this fan: God’s so, what a beast was I, I did not leave my feather at home! Well, but I’ll take an order with you. 41
[Puts his feather in his pocket.
Burbadge. Why do you conceal your feather, sir?