Sil. But prythee, brother, instruct us a little;
Tell us, what kind of country is this Holland,
That's so much talk'd of, and so much fought for?
Ern. Why, friend, 'tis a huge ship at anchor, fraught
With a sort of creatures made up of turf
And butter.
Ped. Pray, sir, what do they drink in that country?
'Tis said, there's neither fountains there
Nor vines.
Ern. This is the butler, sure, by his apt question. [Aside.
Friend, they drink there a certain muddy liquor,
Made of that grain with which you feed your mules.
Ped. What, barley? can that juice quench their thirst?
Ern. You'd scarce believe it could, did you but see
How oft they drink.
Ped. But methinks that should make them drunk, camerade?
Ern. Indeed most strangers are of that opinion;
But they themselves believe it not, because
They are so often.
Ger. A nation, sure, of walking tuns, the world
Has not the like.
Ern. Pardon me, friend, there is but a great ditch
Betwixt them and such another nation;
If these good fellows would but join, and drink
That dry, i' faith they might shake hands.