Fres. Your health will make me sick, sir.
1st Ser. Then 'twill bring you o' your knees, I hope, sir.
Fres. May I not stand and pledge it, sir?
2nd Ser. I hope you will do as we do.
Fres. Nay then, indeed I must not stand, for you cannot.
3rd Ser. Well said, old boy.
Fres. Old boy! you'll make me a young child anon; for if I continue this I shall scarce be able to go alone.
1st Ser. My body is as weak as water, Fresco.
Fres. Good reason, sir. The beer has sent all the malt up into your brain and left nothing but the water in your body.
Enter D'Amville and Borachio, closely observing their drunkenness.