Enter Bloodhound's daughter Moll, with a bowl of beer.
Moll. By my troth, 'tis he! Captain Young's son. I have loved him even with languishings, ever since I was a girl; but should he know it, I should run mad, sure. What handsome gentlemen travel and manners make! my father begun to you, sir, in a cup of small beer.
Anc. How does he, pray?
Moll. Pretty well now, sir.
Anc. Mass, 'tis small indeed. [Aside.] You'll pledge me?
Moll. Yes, sir.
Anc. Pray, will you tell me one thing?
Moll. What is't?
Anc. Which is smaller, this beer or your maidenhead?
Moll. The beer a great deal, sir.