D'Am. Gentlewomen, y'are welcome. Pray sit down.
Lev. Fresco, by my Lord D'Amville's leave, I prithee go into the buttery. Thou shalt find some o' my men there. If they bid thee not welcome they are very loggerheads.
Fres. If your loggerheads will not, your hogsheads shall, madam, if I get into the buttery. [Exit.
D'Am. That fellow's disposition to mirth should be our present example. Let's be grave, and meditate when our affairs require our seriousness. 'Tis out of season to be heavily disposed.
Lev. We should be all wound up into the key of mirth.
D'Am. The music there!
Bel. Where's my Lord Montferrers? Tell him here's a room attends him.
Enter Montferrers.
Mont. Heaven given your marriage that I am deprived of, joy!
D'Am. My Lord Belforest, Castabella's health!
[D'Amville drinks.
Set ope the cellar doors, and let this health
Go freely round the house.—Another to
Your son, my lord; to noble Charlemont—
He is a soldier—Let the instruments
Of war congratulate his memory.
[Drums and trumpets.