Gum, Bris. A match!
Enter Welcome, Ditty, Budget, Jenniting, Curds.
Wel. Set you merry, my merry, merry lads; what, do the cans dance nimbly?
Heath. Yes, but we want a pipe or two; good mine host, let's have some whiff.
Wel. Here's a musician; honest Ditty and Budget too: if they do not make up the consort, they are very much out of tune.
Ditty. O Gum, have we found you out? my box, you slave!
Bud. And my budget!
Wel. Come, set about, set about, my boon companions.
Bris. A devil on your snout! oatmeal face and tallow-chops, how came you hither with a pox, trow?