Ware. What must we give?
Quart. We take a shilling, sir.
Sale. It is no less.
Sea. Pray God your fish be worth it.
What, is't a whale, you take so dear?
Quart. It is a fish taken in the Indies.
Ware. Pray despatch then, and show't us quickly.
Sale. Pray, forbear: you'd have your head broke, cobbler.
Ware. Yonder is my nephew in his old gallantry.
Sea. Who's there too? my wife
And Mistress Holland! Nay, I look'd for them.
But where's my wise son?
Ware. Mass, I see not him.