Enter Cimbrio, Gracculo, and other Slaves.
Second with vehemence.—Men of your words, all welcome!
Slaves use no ceremony; sit down; here's a health.
Poliph. Let it run round; fill every man his glass.
Grac. We look for no waiters;—this is wine!
Mar. The better,
Strong, lusty wine: drink deep; this juice will make us
As free as our lords. [Drinks.
Grac. But if they find we taste it,
We are condemn'd to the quarry during life,
Without hope of redemption.
Mar. Pish! for that
We'll talk anon: another rouse[112]! we lose time;
[Drinks.
When our low blood's wound up a little higher,
I'll offer my design; nay, we are cold yet;
These glasses contain nothing:—do me right,
[Takes the bottle.
As e'er you hope for liberty. 'Tis done bravely:
How do you feel yourselves now?
Cimb. I begin
To have strange conundrums in my head.
Grac. And I
To loathe base water. I would be hang'd in peace now
For one month of such holidays.
Mar. An age, boys,
And yet defy the whip; if you are men,
Or dare believe you have souls.