Mul. Mind, be not desperate; I’ll recover all.
All things with me shall seem honest that can be profitable,
He must ne’er winch, that would or thrive or save,
To be call’d niggard, cuckold, cut-throat, knave!
Mistress Mul. Are they come, husband?
Mul. Who?—what?—how now? What feast towards in my private parlour? 70
Mistress Mul. Pray leave your foolery! What, are they come?
Mul. Come—who come?
Mistress Mul. You need not make’t so strange!
Mul. Strange?
Mistress Mul. Ay, strange. You know no man that sent me word that he and his wife would come to dinner to me, and sent this jole of fresh salmon beforehand?
Mul. Peace—not I—peace! The messenger hath
mistaken the house; let’s eat it up quickly before it be inquired for. Sit to it—some vinegar—quick! Some good luck yet. Faith, I never tasted salmon relish better! Oh! when a man feeds at other men’s cost! 83