Goldsmiths’ Row.
Touchstone, Quicksilver, Golding, and Mildred, sitting on either side of the stall.
To. Quicksilver, Master Francis Quicksilver, Master Quicksilver!
Enter Quicksilver.
Qu. Here, sir (ump).
To. So, sir; nothing but flat Master Quicksilver (without any familiar addition) will fetch you; will you truss my points, sir?
Qu. Ay, forsooth (ump).
To. How now, sir? the drunken hiccup so soon this morning?
Qu. ’Tis but the coldness of my stomach, forsooth. 10
To. What? have you the cause natural for it? y’are a very learned drunkard: I believe I shall miss some of my silver spoons with your learning. The nuptial night will not moisten your throat sufficiently, but the morning