Jar. A chip of the same block—a fool, sir.
Alex. Good fool, give me a cup of cool beer.
Jar. Fill your master a cup of cool beer.
Alex. Pish! I spoke to the fool.
Jar. I thought you'd brought the fool with you, sir.
Alex. Fool, 'tis my man: shalt sit, i' faith, wench.
Wid. For once I'll be as merry as you are mad, and learn fashions. I am set, you see, sir; but you must pardon, sir, our rudeness—Friday's fare for myself, a dish of eggs and a rabbit; I looked for no strange faces.
Alex. Strange: mine's a good face, i' faith; prythee, buss.
Jar. Why, here's one comes to the business now.
Alex. Sirrah, woot have the old fellow?