Jenny. O for that I could eat a great deal more, Mamma; but then mayhap, I should grow coarse, like him, and spoil my shape.
Lady Wrong. Ay, so thou would'st, my Dear.
Enter Squire Richard with a full Tankard.
Squ. Rich. Here, Feyther, I ha' browght it——it's well I went as I did; for our Doll had just bak'd a toast, and was going to drink it herself.
Sir Fran. Why then, here's to thee, Dick!
[Drinks.
Squ. Rich. Thonk yow, Feyther.
Lady Wrong. Lord! Sir Francis! I wonder you can encourage the Boy to swill so much of that lubberly liquor——it's enough to make him quite stupid.
Squ. Rich. Why it never hurts me, Mother; and I sleep like a hawnd after it.
[Drinks.