Ser. More blood been spill'd, I warrant, than beer now.
And. That inkhorn is a deadly dangerous weapon:
It hath undone one quarter of the kingdom.
Chris. Men should forgive; but thou art far, yea far
From it, O Bagshot: thou'rt in 'love with hate.
Bless me! I see the fiend still in his looks;
He is not reconcilable with drink:
He'll ne'er love truly till he eat with me.
The nature of his spirit asketh meat;
He hath a wolf in's breast: food must appease him.
And. Cold meat will do it, will't not?
Rhyme. Anything
That may employ the teeth.
And. Go, James, provide.
You are not merry yet.
Catch. To satisfy you
In that point, we'll sing a song of his.
And. Let's ha't; I love these ballads hugeously.
The Song.
1. Catchmey.