Ditty. Hold, hold, Nancy! He thought all women like pots of ale, and that tinkers might call for 'um as freely as the finest customer; this crab-tree lecture will teach him better manners hereafter.
Jen. Ay, sister, do not foul your mouth any more with the checker-faced scullion; let him go.
Ditty. Come, then, and shake hands; we'll fine him for's sauciness, and his ransom shall be half a dozen at mine host Welcome's. Come, come, you shall be friends, and I'll perfect the reconciliation with a song.
Bud. Half a dozen! We'll score out all the chalk i' th' house, and make the tapster fetch one o' th' city clerks to sum up the reckoning.
Jen. Come, sister, let's go drink sorrows dry; and a woman's anger should be like jack-weights—quickly up and quickly down. [Exeunt.
SCENE XIII.
Enter Welcome.
Wel. Ay, ay, 'tis the rich face that keeps us from poverty. If the tailor's countenance were in fashion now, and all that had fiery faces were counted comets, what a decay would there be amongst our houses of good fellowship. How our cans would rot and jugs grow musty for want of use! I would the whole city were jugs and cans, that they might never be in good case but when they're full of good liquor. I fear this will be a bad year for all of our profession; salt meats are grown out of fashion, and Lent will be forgotten this year, and, for aught I know, the next Papist that's drunk may make the people condemn it for superstition because he uses it. Forbid, thou who ever art patron of good fellowship!
Enter Bung.
Bung. [To some one within.] I'll be with you presently. Master, can you give me a groat and sixpence for a twopence.