Wid. How happy shall I be to wed such wisdom!
Blood. Shalt bed it, shalt bed it, wench; shalt ha't by infusion. Look, look!
Enter a Smith.
Smith. Save ye, Master Tim.
Tim. Who's this? goodman File, the blacksmith! I thought it had been our old collier. Did you go to bed with that dirty face, goodman File?
Smith. And rise with it too, sir.
Tim. What have you bumming out there, goodman File?
Smith. A vice, sir, that I would fain be furnished with a little money upon.
Tim. Why, how will you do to work then, goodman File?
Smith. This is my spare vice, not that I live by.