Citizen
What! not some oysters, gather'd near the coast,
Such as in days of old we lov'd to roast?
Sangrado
No, not an oyster—faith, you're in a dream,
To think I'd load my little nag with them:
We both are weary; let me in, I pray,
Even though you turn us out at break of day.
Citizen
'Tis midnight now—return from whence you come—
High time all honest people were at home.
Sangrado
Brother, me thinks my toes are somewhat cold—
Unbar your door—if one may be so bold:
Wet to the skin, and travelling all the day,
I want some rest—open the door, I say!
Citizen
Open the door, forsooth! the man is mad:
Lodging is not so easy to be had;
It is an article we do not trade in,
Nor shall my bed by all the world be laid in.
Our very hay-loft is as full as can be—
Push off, my friend, and try your luck at Granby.